


11:48

by spacepioneers



Series: All In A Day's Work [1]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Android Homicide, Anti-Android Characters, Bisexual Hank Anderson, Canon-Typical Violence, Case Fic, Connor Needs A Hug, Connor definitely needs a hug, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Hank Anderson is Unaware of his Feelings, Hurt and comfort, Living Together, Lots of Mentions of Violence, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Minor Angst, Minor Character Death, Original Minor Characters - Freeform, Pansexual Connor, Serial Killers, Slight Gavin Reed Redemption, Tags Contain Minor Spoilers, Work In Progress, minor fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-10-10 21:50:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacepioneers/pseuds/spacepioneers
Summary: [ Updates bimonthly ][ NOTE: This story takes place in the spring after the revolution. ]Hank Anderson didn't dwell on the revolution, going back to work with his new partner seemed like the right choice. With Connor, he continued solving homicide cases, churning out case reports with the RK800 at a speed he hadn't done in years.It took nothing but a seemingly simple case to shatter their illusion of peace. With the trail running cold, Hank and Connor try their best to put what's left of their lives back together and wrap up the case.





	1. UN

HANK watched the clock with drooping eyes, counting the seconds until he passed out. It took him a moment to realise that the clock had stopped, too hungover to see that the minute hand stuck between the nine and ten. 

Connor followed his eyes, amused. “Interesting.”

Hank turned to him, forgetting Connor was there, that he had stayed with him to help him file a case. He sighed, sitting up in his chair. “Whatever.”

“Hank,” Connor’s voice went soft, and Hank felt like puking, “Are you alright?”

“Why do you think I came in late today, Con?” The lieutenant pushed papers into folders, not caring where they were meant to go. “This is fucking torture.”

Hank could nearly see the gears shifting in Connor’s head, holding in a snicker. The android seemed to have nothing to say that, as he turned back to his work. Hank, who was considering the consequences of going home and finishing the case tomorrow, took a long look at the clock again. The ticks had continued, the passage of time only visible in sound.

Hank stared at the computer screen in front of him, a messy desktop filled with random web pages that he had forgotten to close. It wasn’t unusual for him to get distracted, but he always closed the windows after, in case Fowler wanted to nag his ass again. He took to the mundane task of closing the tabs and windows. He cringed seeing some of his drunken google searches from when he first arrived this morning, trudging into the precinct with too much whiskey in his hands and body.

Fowler had taken the bottle in his hand, but it didn’t matter. Hank was on the verge of blacking out, and one bottle couldn’t have possibly made much of a difference. Connor hadn’t tried to talk to him, and Hank was glad for that now. He probably would’ve said something stupid.

Not nearly as stupid as “_Do men have wombs_.”

Hank closed that one with a wince.

THE PRECINCT was empty, save for Hank and Connor. Richard, the RK900 they had found not too long after the revolution, had left twenty minutes ago, and Hank was glad to have one less clicking keyboard in the room.

Connor was still bright as ever to his left, humming a small tune as he filed a report. Hank was sat at his own desk, miserably nursing a migraine. Connor didn’t seem to notice, getting up to get something from the archives. Hank let out a long sigh once he was gone, resting his head in his hands.

He had been staring at the same paper for hours, trying to make sense of the words. The moon outside was too high in the sky to see from the windows, and the A.C. had shut off, the stale air starting to settle around his desk. A measly little plant, a small monstera that Connor had gotten him on his birthday, had turned into a weeping willow, large leaves dragging its stem downwards.

Hank didn’t hear Connor return, and his voice had taken him off guard. “Lieutenant, are you feeling well?”

“No,” Hank groaned, rubbing his temples. “And it’s Hank.”

Connor approached his desk, setting down the old reports on the far end of Hank’s desk. “Do you need my assistance? You seem to be struggling.”

Hank opened his mouth to protest, but gave in anyway. “Yeah. Please.”

He could see Connor smile a little and watched him pull his chair to Hank’s desk. The android took no time at all to sort the files that Hank had been ignoring, rearranging the papers and placing the unneeded files back into his drawers. Hank tried to lift his head up a little, not wanting to be the useless lump of matter he felt like.

Connor handed him a paper and gestured to the computer. “Could you open your report?” he asked gently.

Hank did what he was told, feeling like a douchebag for making Connor do his work for him. He unlocked the computer, even though he was sure Connor knew it already. The document was easy to find, he had given it a simple name and left it in the middle of his desktop. Connor read over the file once Hank had turned the monitor to him.

“I can write the report for you,” he offered, smile still on his face.

Hank couldn’t find the strength to shake his head, and Connor took that as a yes.

Hank closed his eyes, resting his head on the desk. Connor typed away beside him, and the mechanical clicks of the keys put the man into a dreamless sleep.

CONNOR’s eyes were the first thing Hank saw, the chocolate coloured irises filled with concern. The next thing he saw was the clock on the far away, still at 11:48. Connor saw him looking and visibly relaxed.

“The time is one hundred forty six,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You were asleep one hour and forty nine minutes.”

“Why the fuck did you let me sleep?” Hank ran a hand down the side of his face. The sleep hadn’t left his body yet, a sore ache still in his bones. He sat up in his chair, scanning the surface in front of him. “Where’s my report?”

“I finished it,” Connor said plainly. “It’s on Fowler’s desk as we speak.”

“Con,” Hank started, unsure of what to say. “You can’t. . . You don’t have to do my work for me.”

“I know,” Connor replied, a quiet mumble. “I wanted to.”

Hank eyes him, standing up from the desk. “Well I better get home, I guess.”

The android nodded, following suit. “Of course.”

“Thanks.”

Connor didn’t meet his eyes, as if he was waiting for Hank to say something else. He returned to his desk, turning off his own computer and clearing the desk surface. Hank paused and watched him fiddle with a cup of pens, leaning against his desk.

“What?” Connor raised an eyebrow when he caught Hank looking at him.

“Why did you help me?” Hank asked, trying to keep his voice steady. Though his body no longer ached, the headache still lingered. “I’ve been a dickhead to you since well. . .”

He was going to say, ”_since the revolution_”, but he was always a dickhead, wasn’t he?

Connor shook his head, twirling a pen around in his hand. Hank tried to keep his eyes on his face. “I know. But I want to help you.”

“Why?” Hank squinted at him, both from slight frustration and from the pain in his skull.

“Well,” Connor took an artificial breath, or maybe it was real, “I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?” Hank felt like Connor knew something he didn’t, and they were just talking in circles.

“Do I need to?” Connor tilted his head, staring at Hank intently.

Hank sighed, standing up right. He wanted an answer, but now he only had more questions. He grabbed his keys out of his desk drawer and began heading for the door. “Goodnight, Connor.”

Connor didn’t follow, still at his desk. “Did I say something?”

Hank almost said _yes_, though it was a lie. Connor had said something, but Hank didn’t know what. He didn’t care, too tired to do anything but go home. “My neck hurts. See you tomorrow, Con.”

A small reply came from behind Hank, echoing off the walls of the empty precinct.


	2. DEUX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor are assigned a new case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I continue this, the chapters will be about 1000 words long. I can't afford to spend too long on these, as I've been really busy with school lately.
> 
> Mistakes are my own. Enjoy!

HANK and Connor stepped out of the car, Hank immediately squinting from the sunlight. They were parked outside an apartment complex, in an unfamiliar neighbourhood. Connor almost marched into the building, leaving Hank to trail behind him.

There was tape on an elevator, with half a dozen people in uniforms and suits around it. Hank spotted Officer Miller off in the corner, talking to some secretary. Connor had made a beeline for the evidence, so Hank went over to Miller.

“Anderson!” Miller said in surprise when he noticed Hank approaching. His face looked tired, and Hank remembered he’d been one of the unlucky people to get the night shift that month.

Hank glanced around the lobby. “So,” he cleared his throat,”The hell happened?”

Miller grimaced. “Homicide, sixth floor. Barely any evidence, but we know it was a human male.”

“The vic?” Hank couldn’t see what exactly Connor was squatting in front of, but he prayed to fucking god it wasn’t blood, red or blue. “An android, right?”

“Yeah, a domestic model.” Miller turned away from the woman he was speaking to, gesturing towards the closed off elevator. “A bunch of stab wounds. The apartment was a mess.”

“Huh.” Hank looked over at Connor, watching him talk to a witness. “Guess I’ll go see it myself.”

“Good luck,” Miller said, clearly trying his best to keep his eyes open. Hank remembered taking on the night shift despite his already obsessive work schedule. It wasn’t too long before Cole, back when the biggest dream he had was becoming lieutenant. At least he got that.

Miller waved to him before walking out, leaving Hank to stand awkwardly beside the woman the officer had been talking to. She gave him a worried look, and before she could ask if she’d have to go to jail, or some other question witnesses always asked, he excused himself.

Connor gave him a weak smile when Hank neared him, clasping his hands together. Hank could see right through the fake brightness in his eyes, and remembered Connor’s initial purpose. Realising he was staring at his partner for too long, Hank pushed the thoughts out of his mind, trying to focus on the case at hand.

Connor ignored the awkward silence and looked at Hank, still trying to smile. “Would you like to move to the apartment, lieutenant?”

Hank ignored the formalities, not bothering to tell Connor to call him by his first name. “Let’s go.”

The two of them made their way to the one elevator left, Hank quickly pressing the six. Connor didn’t pull out his coin, stealing glances at Hank whenever he thought the older man wouldn’t catch him. The ride was free of music, and Hank could feel himself wither away in the stale air.

He didn’t stop the sigh of relief from when the doors opened, walking down the hallway and looking for red tape. Connor was behind him, footsteps lighter and more broad than Hank’s. They turned a hallway before reaching the crime scene, Hank tearing through the tape and entering the room. A crime scene photographer gave him a brief look before going back to her work.

Hank wandered the apartment, taking in the labeled evidence as he tried to imagine what could have happened. He was staring at a bookshelf with several books displaced when Connor called to him from the kitchen.

Connor was standing in the messiest kitchen Hank had ever seen in his life. The drawers, those that were still in place, were yanked open. Connor pointed to a few knives on the granite counter. “Look, lieutenant.”

Hank muttered something about being called Hank as he lumbered to him, slipping on the gloves he had grabbed back at the precinct. Connor moved back to let him work.

Hank held the knife carefully, looking at the stains and scuffs on each with a close eye. The longest of the five had wear marks, similar to the shortest, which was blunter. He put the other three back, turning the long one in his hands.

Connor chirped in from the corner of the room. “Lieutenant, I—”

“Hank,” he interrupted, setting the knife down.

“Hank,” Connor started again as Hank began to return the knives. “Would you like to go see a movie together?”

Hank choked, nearly dropping the shorter blade onto his right foot. “What?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank could’ve sworn Connor’s face was turning blue, “I shouldn’t ask that.”

“No, no,” Hank set them down, pulling off his gloves. “I’d like to. It’s just that I'd have to find a sitter for Sumo,” he trailed off.

“I understand.”

Hank pursed his lips together. “You can come by and we can watch the movie with Sumo,” he spoke calmly, a weird sensation rising in his throat.

“That would be great.” Connor lit up, eyes brighter than Hank had seen them in a while.

“This Friday?” Hank knew he had the weekend off, and Connor usually took Fridays off, by Fowler’s request. “I’ve got the weekend off.”

“Sure.” Connor smiled.

THE CRIME SCENE had only gotten more gruesome, and Hank was ready to leave by the time they had made their way back to the living room. Connor was already sure of what happened between the victim and the suspect, but the partners would have to wait until the fingerprints were run to gather any more information.

They were making their way back to the car when Hank asked Connor what movies he liked.

“I’m not sure,” Connor said as he got into the passenger seat. “I’ve only seen a few movies of the horror genre.”

“Really?” Hank chuckled. “Never thought androids liked jumpscares.”

Connor let out a laugh, the same smile from earlier appearing on his face. “I don’t.”

“Oh no, don’t tell me you put yourself through those movies for no fucking reason,” Hank groaned as he put the key into ignition. “My old college roommate made me suffer like that, not you, too.”

Connor fiddled with his coin. “We can watch something else.”

The car rumbled to life, and Hank pulled out of parking and onto the road. “I’ve only got rom-coms left.”

One look at Connor made Hank want to slam his head on the wheel. “Connor, I might not invite you back if you’re just going to put me through sappy rom-coms.”

“They aren’t all bad, Hank.” Connor flipped the coin in his hand with no effort, watching the window.

Hank stopped for a red light. He was too far deep to cancel their “movie night”, not that he wanted to, and the smile on Connor’s face was worth at least two shitty rom-coms.

“Fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to leave kudos or a comment, or both! I'd love to get more feedback on these.
> 
> — the author


	3. TROIS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor watch a movie.

THE DOORBELL rang through the house, rousing Sumo from his sleep. Hank walked over to the door and opened it, relieved to see it was Connor.

The android was holding a pizza box along with a DVD. Hank almost chuckled at the thought of Connor walking into a store to buy a DVD, instead tilting his head at the pizza.

“Who’s the pizza for?” Hank let him in, feeling hungrier as he could smell the food. “You can’t exactly eat Connor.”

“I’m capable of consuming small amounts.” Connor set it down on the counter and turned to Hank. “But I thought you would like some.”

“So you can watch me eat?” Hank didn’t bother holding back his grin. “Fucking weirdo.”

Connor laughed at that, a warm sound that made Hank feel warm in his clothes. He shook it off, focusing his attention on the movie in Connor’s hands. “What’d you bring?”

“I didn’t know what we would both like, so I researched popular movies from your youth.”

Connor handed Hank the disc, and the older looked over the cover. It was _Call Me By Your Name_. “Jesus, Con. You wanna watch _this_?”

“Do you not like it?” Connor’s eyes dimmed and Hank wanted to swallow his words.

“No, no, it’s just,” Hank trailed off, scratching his neck. “This movie is, uh, not exactly the kind you watch with your friends.”

“Oh.”

“We can watch it though,” Hank insisted. He remembered crying over this movie in his room, back before he figured out he was bi. Trying to change the subject, Hank set the movie down. “What toppings did you get?”

“I don’t know much on pizza toppings either,” Connor handed to box to Hank, “so I got pineapple.”

Hank doubled over laughing.

THE TWO OF THEM sat on the couch, Sumo laying on Connor’s legs. The sky was darkening outside, the only source of light being the television. Connor watching the movie intensely, while Hank watched him. Hank had eaten his fill of pizza as they set up the movie, despite Connor warning him after his third slice.

The movie was about twenty minutes in when Connor moved closer, resting his head on Hank’s shoulder. Hank tried not to react too much, pretending to watch the movie. He tried his best to focus on the film, and not every single inch of his skin that touched Connor’s. Despite his efforts, the movie ended in what felt like a blink. Connor hadn’t moved, eyes closed with his LED spinning yellow.

Sumo, who had taken up a different chair, barked as the television screen went black. Hank looked at the time. It was nearly midnight. “Shit.”

Connor’s eyes fluttered open. “It’s late.”

Hank hummed in agreement. He reached for the remote and turned the television off. The room went dark, leaving only the sounds of Sumo’s tail hitting the floor and whirring of the air conditioner. Connor finally sat up straight and got up.

“This was fun,” Connor said quietly in the near dark. Hank watched his outline straighten his shirt and fix his hair. “I enjoyed it a lot.”

Hank stood up as well, less graceful as he nearly tripped on one of Connor’s feet. He could feel Connor’s smile as he righted himself, wanting to laugh it off too. “You can stay the night.”

“That would be too much.” Connor’s LED was still yellow, the small light a beacon in the dark. “I should go.”

“It’s too late, anyway,” Hank tried to come up with a reason to get Connor not to leave. “And it might not be safe out there.”

Connor shook his head, laughing like Hank was a child afraid of the monster under his bed. “If you want me to stay, just ask.”

“Okay, fine. I want you to stay.”

Connor had that damned goofy smile on his face. Hank rolled his eyes and turned to find the light. Lightbulbs above flickered on, bathing the room in warm.

Hank forgot they had left the pizza box out, and he was going to put the leftovers in the fridge when his stomach grumbled. He put a slice in the microwave and placed the rest in the fridge.

When he looked into the living room, Connor was petting Sumo’s head gently, careful not to wake him. The android looked up at him, an eyebrow raised.

Hank took the slice out of the microwave, blowing on it gently to cool it down. Connor rolled his eyes in his peripheral vision.

Leaning over the kitchen counter, Hank took a bite. Connor got up to stand across from him, a small smile on his face.

“You know,” the android began, “I’ve heard that pineapple is quite the controversial pizza topping.”

“That’s because people don’t know,” Hank swallowed, speaking through bites, “what good pizza is.”

“It is quite odd though.” Connor watched Hank eat with unblinking eyes. “Pineapple is a ‘sweet’ fruit. Why would it be an appealing accessory to your pizza?”

“I don’t know,” Hank shrugged, putting the slice down. The two of them stared at it. “The different tastes, like, the, uh, the contrast.”

Connor didn’t look convinced.

“I don’t know how to describe it,” Hank stuttered, running a hand through his hair. 

Connor nodded, reaching for Hank’s hand, the one covered with less oil. He held it, then slowly retracted his skin. Pearly white stood out against Hank’s creamier colour.

Connor was silent, letting go of Hank’s hand just as carefully as he had held it. It was a long moment before he spoke, though it sounded like a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” Connor said.

Hank tried to respond, taking in a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “For what?” he croaked out.

“For hunting deviants,” Connor’s voice trembled. “For hurting you.”

“What do you mean?” Hank couldn’t think of a time when Connor had intended to harm him. “You never—”

“I saw the look on your face when I didn’t understand why the deviants were revolting.” Connor was looking at his hands, artificial skin peeled back to reveal his chassis. “I didn’t understand until after, when you. . . “

“. . .when you embraced me.” He flipped an invisible coin between his fingers.

“Jesus Christ, Con,” Hank scratched his neck awkwardly.

“I deviated because of you, Hank.” Connor looked up at Hank as if he was a bomb he failed to defuse. “I wanted to tell you somewhere besides the precinct.”

Hank forced himself to stop scratching and met Connor’s gaze. “Look, I’m not the best at talking about my feelings, but Connor you don’t have to put a pin on why you deviated. Some,” he paused, inhaling slowly. “Some things just happen.”

Connor faltered for a moment, a small flicker of sadness passed over his face when Hank finished. Hank could’ve sworn Connor had made that face on that night he had to work that shift.

He didn’t remember much from that night, but he remembered the frustration. The look on Connor’s face as he tried to tell Hank something. Something besides his deviancy.

“I should go,” Connor said again, this time with desperation. “Thank you, Hank, for having me.”

Hank held his wrist, still bone white. “No, Con. Wait.”

Connor stared at the ground, LED yellow again. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Yes, you do.” Hank’s memory of that night came to him. “You wanted to tell me about a week ago, when I had to finish that report.”

Connor didn’t reply, LED flickering red for the first time in a long time. “I thought you would forget.”

“Forget what?” Hank tilted his head, not letting go of Connor. “Just tell me.”

“Nevermind.” Connor pulled his hand away, skin reappearing. “Goodnight, Hank.”

Hank protested but Connor ignored his pleads, leaving with a plain goodbye that didn’t match the pained look in his eyes.

Hank passed by the liquor cabinet without a glance and nearly slept in his clothes, done with the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistakes are my own. Please leave a comment or some kudos if you enjoyed this, it means a lot to me. :)


	4. QUATRE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HANK fights through a monotonous day at work without CONNOR.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Throwing this out to keep this story fresh. I have a test tomorrow, but I really want to keep updating this.

HANK walked into the precinct with eyes barely open. He glanced over at his desk, wincing when he saw Connor’s empty beside his. The RK900 noticed Hank looking and approached.

“Lieutenant,” the android began. “I assume that you were not informed that your partner would be occupied with the murder case you two have been investigating.”

“Thanks,” Hank muttered, trying not to think about the physical similarities between RK900 and Connor. “Uh, good to know.”

“Of course.” RK900 responded in a slightly monotone voice. “Also, Fowler wanted to tell you that you have no more vacation days.”

“What?” Hank ran a hand across the side of his face. “Fuck, okay. Whatever.”

The android didn’t smile, but nodded his head curtly and left. In Hank’s peripheral vision, Gavin was staring at RK900’s ass.

Snickering to himself, Hank went to his desk. He sighed as he sat in his chair, just as uncomfortable as it had been when he got the desk. Starting the computer, he pulled open the case file for the murder so far. He scanned over times and dates, secondary locations and minor details. He wondered how Connor didn’t pull out his synthetic hair from the boredom.

To keep his sanity, he tried to imagine friends, family of the victim. _Scratch the family part_, Hank thought. _The vic was an android, she probably had no family. In the childhood sense._

Gavin was talking to him, Hank realised. He turned to the detective and away from pretending to read the information on the screen. “What?” Hank said, furrowing his eyes.

“You didn’t hear me old man?” Gavin laughed to himself, speaking loudly from nearly halfway across the precinct. “I said, you miss your little twink of a partner?”

Hank’s nostrils flared, and he clenched his hands into fists. Gavin grinned, satisfied with himself as he went back to his work. Hank did his best to focus, paying a moderate amount of attention to the case. Weapons and elevator evidence were in the back of his mind as he thought about that night with Connor. He had trouble sleeping once Connor had left, his mind creating a nightmare in which Connor was the suspect in the case they were assigned. Hank the victim, stabbed and left to die in a pool of his own blood. In addition, Cole had appeared as Hank neared death, his figure growing brighter felt colder and colder. He woke up in a cold sweat, Sumo’s whining at the door. He must’ve been screaming, and in his tiredness he let Sumo in to take up the other half of the bed.

He had variations of the dream all that week, each getting progressively worse. He wondered if Connor had noticed, with his sensors for every goddamn thing in the universe.

As he tried to focus once again, Hank made a mental list of people to interview the next time he and Connor went to the scene. He was about to close the window when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. It was a text from Connor, and Hank tried to ignore the skip in his heartbeat. He glanced up to see if anyone was paying attention to him. Sure he was in the clear, he opened the message.

**Con:** _I will not be at the precinct until later tonight. Please tell Fowler that I came across a new lead. I’m asking you, as my connection to the precinct seems to be malfunctioning today._

**Con:** _:)_

Hank typed out a “fine” and closed his messages. He looked over at Fowler’s office, grimacing as he remembered the last time he had to go there. Fowler was pissed at him for failing to turn in a report a few weeks ago, and Hank tried arguing with him. The interaction turned into a full blown argument, and Fowler threatened to put him on the night shift.

Getting up from his chair, Hank felt his bones creak. He could hear Gavin stifle a snicker. Huffing, he headed for Fowler’s office. He knocked on the door, tapping his foot impatiently.

Fowler called out a muffled “come in,” and Hank entered. The captain was seated at his chair, eyeing Hank suspiciously. Hank noticed a new addition to the clutter on his desk, a tiny globe with an even tinier Eiffel Tower inside it.

“What is it?” Fowler said tiredly. He had bags under his eyes that were easy to see as he squinted at Hank.

“Uh,” Hank blanked for a moment, staring at the Eiffel Tower. “Connor wanted to tell you that he’s got a new lead.”

“And why does he need you to tell me?” Fowler glared at Hank, pulling the lieutenant’s eyes back to him. “I’ve got better things to do, Hank.”

“Yeah, his, um, communications thing isn’t working.” Hank realised Fowler thought he was drunk. He cleared his throat. “He wanted you to know before he got back.”

The captain raised an eyebrow, but didn’t question Hank further. “Well, do you have anything else?”

Hank shook his head. “Nothing, my lord.”

Fowler frowned. “Get out, lieutenant.”

“Get out, lieutenant,” Hank mocked under his breath in a whiny voice. He left the office without hurry, kicking the door behind him. The precinct didn’t quiet, though Gavin stared at him menacingly. Shaking his head, Hank spotted an officer by his desk, who he recognised as Chris Miller.

Chris turned around when he heard Hank approach, hand caught fiddling with the leaves of Hank’s depressed monstera. “Hey, uh,” he cleared his throat, “Anderson.”

“What?” Hank moved around him and sat at his desk. “Stop messing with my plant.”

“Huh?” He looked surprised as he looked down to see his hand still holding a leaf. “Oh, sorry. I got a call. From one of the witnesses at the Darsons complex.”

“Yeah?” Hank replied, already wondering how long until he could leave.

“It was the receptionist, saying something about camera footage she found. I think you got an email though.”

Hank glanced over at the clock. Twelve past four. Four hours left. “I’ll see it later.”

“Good.” Chris gave him an awkward smile. “How’s the case going? I’ve been at a suicide this week.”

“Fine.” Hank couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually talked to the officer about anything besides a case.

A small voice in the back of his mind, that sounded a lot like Connor’s, told him to be nicer. Hank sighed, blinking as he tried to hide his bad mood. “It’s slow, but Connor and I got it.”

“Nice to know,” Chris’s smile remained, “See you around, lieutenant.”

“See you.” Hank opened his email, scrolling through his inbox. The majority of the messages were from Fowler, automatic notices on his tardiness. The others were mainly Connor, sending him images and report drafts. Nearly all were unread, and Hank made no effort to change that as he looked for the security footage.

He found it finally, a brief message with an attachment of about four hours of footage. He marked it for later, not bothering as they had no suspects or clues yet. He went back to the rest of his inbox, glancing over old reports. Bored enough, he found a file folder with old cases and set out to review them.

Though painfully, time passed. The little hand of the clock finally reached eight. Hank felt himself relax, closing the window and shutting the computer down. He was out of his chair in minutes, looking for his phone in one of the drawers.

Footsteps behind him turned into a cheerful voice. “I thought you might have left early.” Connor’s.

Hank turned around, surprised. “You’re back.”

“I am,” his voice was happier than it had been in a while, which made Hank smile. “I interviewed the neighbours, and visited the victim’s workplace.”

“Great,” Hank said. He watched Connor carefully as the android went to his desk. “Can’t believe you thought I wouldn’t stay for a whole shift.”

Connor chuckled. “I’m happy to be wrong.”

“I wish I was.” Hank kept his voice quiet, realising they were almost all of the noise in the room. The cycle of witnesses and suspects of petty crimes had disappeared with the sun, and the white noise of keyboards and pen clicks had filled the precinct for the past hour. “You look tired.”

“I cannot be tired, lieutenant.” Connor’s desk was neat as it had always been, yet he fussed over a mug of pens.

“Bullshit.” Hank smirked. “I can see it in your eyes.”

Connor squinted at him, then let out another chuckle. “Whatever you say. I imagine you must be going home now.”

“Oh, yeah.” Hank remembered the car keys in his pocket. “Night, Connor.”

“Goodnight, Hank. Tell Sumo I said ``hello.” Connor waved at him, and let the pens rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the next couple chapters, I'll [ hopefully ] be making chapters of a much higher quality. I'm putting what I can into this, and I'm falling behind schedule. It gets better though, and this story will most likely end before we hit twenty chapters. [ but don't put that on the court record ]
> 
> — the author


	5. CINQ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HANK and CONNOR make some new developments on their case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back from the dead. Sorry for the brief pause in updates, I had a bunch of schoolwork in the past couple weeks and I've been struggling to write this story. Luckily, I found time, and here we are. Or here we back are, lol.
> 
> Even better, Hank and Connor edge closer to solving their case. But maybe it's bigger than they thought.

CONNOR and HANK left the car for the complex, something Hank thought was already too familiar. The building was ominous in the dim light of dusk, and Hank shook off an unsettling feeling. He followed his partner with a grunt, cursing as his foot caught on the uneven pavement.

“Now that we’ve made a short list of suspects, and I thought getting a second look at the scene would move the case forward.” Connor paid no mind to Hank’s bad mood, holding the door open for him as they entered the Darsons complex.

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank glanced over at the receptionist, who gave them a knowing look. He made his way to the elevator. “Let’s just get there.”

The elevator doors slid closed behind the two of them, casting a small hush over them. Connor tapped his foot against the floor at an incessant beat. Hank sighed, rubbing his temples. The doors slid open at last, and Connor nearly jumped out of the elevator and towards the crime scene.

Hank moved around an old lady locking her apartment door, glancing at Connor, who was already at the door. The apartment still had its yellow tape on it, though the adhesive was weakening. Connor opened the door, or rather, threw it open.

“What’s got you so hyper today?” Hank asked, raising an eyebrow in question. “You’ve been jumpy all morning.”

“No reason,” Connor’s voice called out from the hallway. He headed for the suspect’s bedroom without another word.

Hank settled for his answer and paced the living room. The evidence was exactly the same, just as it was two weeks ago when they first picked up the case. They’d gotten the victim’s full name since then, Annabelle Pattersons. In the time it took for them to find suspects, the blue blood had long faded, leaving nearly no physical evidence of death in the room. Hank tore his eyes away from the blank walls, walking towards the television instead.

The remote had been left unused the night Pattersons died. Hank let his mind wander, wondering what she would have watched.

“Lieutenant.”

Hank nearly jumped out of his skin, startled by Connor’s sudden appearance. He brushed off his jacket, taking in a deep breath. “Yes?”

“I want your opinion on something.” Connor gestured to the bedroom.

“Isn’t your software better than my old brain?” Hank huffed but followed him.

The bedroom was small, and Hank was sure he could count every object in there in under a minute. The bookshelf opposite the full-sized bed had less than ten books, two classics Hank remembered reading in high school and a philosophy book, along with a few titles he was too lazy to read. Connor pointed at the bed, or more towards the floor beside it.

The android squatted down, and Hank followed. Connor, ever so careful, traced a small indent on the carpet. “Footprints.”

“Huh,” Hank said, amused. “You think we’ve got a serial killer? This guy must’ve waited a while for the imprints to still be here.”

“I thought the same. That could explain the slow progress.” Connor spoke thoughtfully, as though he were more talking to himself.

“Hey,” Hank waved a hand in front of his face. “Earth to the RK800. You good, Con?”

“Oh,” Connor looked up at him, almost surprised Hank was still there. “Yes, I’m alright.”

Hank tilted his head. “Sure. You know we not just work partners, right? You can rant to me about shit that bothers you.”

“I’m aware of that, Hank,” Connor said, staring back at Hank. “But there’s nothing wrong.”

“Bullshit, but okay.” Hank shrugged his shoulders, moving his gaze back to the footprints. “I’m pretty sure they’re mens shoes, unless we’ve got a woman with big ass feet.”

Connor blinked at him. Hank raised his hands in defense. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Of course.”

Hank and Connor stared at each other for a long moment, the lieutenant’s hands still raised. Hank gave in, glancing at the ground. “Fuck you,” he said simply, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaving.

He swore he could feel Connor’s smile at his back.

CONNOR AND HANK returned on time, both of them stuck with another late shift. Connor’s energy had died down, though Hank saw his hands fidgeting the entire car ride back to the precinct. They had collected nearly no new leads, which Hank knew Fowler would yell at him for once he got back from his niece’s wedding. Or whatever he was gone this week for.

Lucky for them, the precinct was almost empty. Hank was glad to see Gavin’s desk vacant, relaxing at the silence. Connor was first to settle into his desk chair, immediately starting up his computer. Hank took his time, feeling his body relax too much. A quick glance told him the coffee left in the pot was most likely not drinkable. He sighed, turning on his computer with a yawn.

A wad of blue sticky note hit the side of his face, jerking him awake. Hank glared to his side to see Connor looking back. The android was smiling at his desk, keeping his eyes on his screen. Hank chuckled, throwing it back. It bounced off a folder next to Connor’s hand.

Connor, holding in laughter, turned to him. “What?”

“What?” Hank shrugged, keeping a straight face.

“Hank, I’ve got work to do.” Connor’s smile was barely visible, but his eyes were a dead giveaway. “You can’t distract me like this.”

“Like what?” Hank tried his best to look confused. “I’m doing my work.”

“You threw a projectile made from a sticky note at my desk.”

“You know, I was wondering how that got there.”

“You. You were how it got there.”

“I don’t own any sticky notes.” Hank gestured to the surface of his desk.

Connor opened his mouth to speak when a loud crash echoed from the archives. They both turned to look, seeing one of the lights switched on. Connor glanced at Hank with concern. “Do you have a weapon with you?”

“No,” Hank replied, voice low. “You?”

“No.” Connor stood up from his desk in a smooth motion and stepped towards the room. “I’ll see what’s going on in there.”

“Hey, hey,” Hank said, standing up as well. “We’re partners. I’m going with you.”

The android didn’t protest, throwing a look over his shoulder at Hank and making his way towards the sound. The noise repeated itself when Connor reached the corridor, and even Hank could hear mumbling. Connor opened the door silently, LED spinning red. Hank heard his heartbeat pulsing in his ears and held his breath.

The mumbling didn’t cease when Connor stepped in, head peeking around the corner. When Hank could get a clear view, he saw a tall figure, hunched over something Hank couldn’t see. Beside him, Connor’s brow was furrowed, and his fists were clenched. Briefly putting a firm hand on Hank’s shoulder to hold him back, he began to approach the figure.

Hank stayed in the shadows, listening from behind a shelf of evidence from cold cases. From there, he could see the figure’s masculine features and broad shoulders. Strands of blond hair leaked out from his back hoodie, and dark eyes were looking at the array of objects on the shelf. It took a moment for Hank to identify the evidence from their case, the homicide at the Darsons complex.

Connor was a mere foot away when the man, Hank was sure the person was male, at least, set down an empty bag with a gloved hand. In his other hand, ungloved, was the bloody knife found at the victim's apartment, covered in the victim’s blood. Connor’s LED flashed red, but quickly went back to yellow. He tackled the stranger in nearly a blink, jumping on him from behind. The two fell to the floor, a choked cry coming from the man. Hank showed himself, readying for whatever weapons the man might wield.

Connor pinned him to the ground, sitting on the man’s back as he barked instructions at him. “Identify yourself.”

The man struggled and squirmed under Connor’s weight, but his mouth stayed closed. Connor continued. “Identify yourself, sir. And what your intents for your trespassing?”

“Harry.” The answer was a raspy voice. “Came here to save my friend’s ass.”

Harry met Hank’s eyes, and the lieutenant saw alcohol and hate in them. Hank glared back at him, nostrils flaring.

Connor threw a look at Hank before he asked Harry another question. “Harry, why did you trespass the precinct? This area is not open to the public, and you are here after the allotted time for public services.”

“I told you,” Harry spoke as if he was choking. “Came here to save Gabe’s fuckin’ ass. Now get off me you lump of metal!”

Connor hesitantly got off of him, not before restraining him with his hands. Harry visibly relaxed, though he was still tense. Hank took the chance to speak. “Gabriel Brennan?”

“Yeah.” Harry shrugged, a smug look on his face. “Doesn’t matter now. He’s already found your,” he paused, grin intensifying, “partner’s place. Or whatever you call this plastic piece of shit.”

Connor’s LED was red for a long moment, and his grip on Harry tightened. “Hank, let’s put him in a holding cell,” he suggested, ignoring Harry’s comments.

Hank nodded, eyeing Harry carefully. “Good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone gets my reference in the pre-chapter notes, leave a comment! I'd love to find some fellow murderinos.
> 
> I'm planning on updating at least once a fortnight, hopefully once a week. I've got some plans for this story, and hopefully you'll stick around to see it to the end. Which I promise may or may not be happy. :)
> 
> Please leave a comment or some kudos if you liked the chapter. And have a lovely day.
> 
> — the author


	6. SIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With new knowledge from Harrison, Hank and Connor stand knee-deep in their case.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Throwing this update out a bit earlier. It's also a bit longer, though I'm not sure if most chapters will be quite as long.
> 
> I hope you all have stuck around, I've got a few plans for Hank and Connor later in the story. Though maybe some of you can see what they are. ;D
> 
> Mistakes are my own!

Without his hoodie, Harry was even fiercer. Amber eyes like fire met Hank’s whenever he looked over at the holding cell, even angrier with an accompanying, knowing smirk that made Hank want to projectile vomit. Connor didn’t look over at Harry, now Harrison Beckett. The android kept his thoughts to himself, all of the energy from his day washed down the drain.

Hank ran a hand down his face, holding his head in his hands. He glanced over at the other two, then motioned for Connor to follow him. He led him down a corridor, and only when he couldn’t hear the whirring of the old air conditioning machine of the holding cell did he speak.

“Con,” he began, unsure of what he was trying to say. “Are you okay?”

“I am fine.” Connor said curtly. “I’ve messaged Fowler, though he says he won’t be here until this weekend.”

“That’s too long.” Hank felt exasperated. “And did you hear what he said? When you were putting him in the cell? He said something about Brennan being at your apartment. That guy’s one of our main suspects. What if he’s there?”

“There are more important things,” Connor replied. “We have to focus on the task at—”

“Connor, would you listen to me?” Hank asked, though it came out as a yell. He took in a deep breath, rubbing his temples again. “I know it’s easier for you to pretend you don’t care, but it isn’t for me.”

Hank ran a hand through his hair as he continued. “I’m worried, Con. Brennan could try to hurt you, and I don’t want that to happen.”

Connor was silent, the only change being his yellow LED. Hank felt anger and nausea bubbling in his throat as his mind racked through all the possible things Brennan could be doing. His hands formed fists at his waist, and his heart didn’t slow down for even the brief look of sadness on Connor’s face.

The RK800 put a careful hand on Hank’s shoulder, and then pulled him into a hug. Hank froze, but instantly relaxed, a hand holding Connor closer. They held each other for ages, but even that was too short. Hank breathed in deeply, trying to ignore the calmness he felt from the proximity. Connor separated them at last, LED now more blue than yellow.

“I’m worried as well, Hank.” His voice was unsteady, with occasional cracks that let Hank know he wasn’t lying. “I don’t know if Harrison was meant to be a distraction. I don’t know if Brennan has found my residence, or yours. I don’t know much of anything.”

Connor looked desperate. “This case has been one of our coldest so far, and I didn’t want you to think I wasn’t sure of myself.”

Connor’s hand removed itself from Hank’s shoulder. “I don’t want anyone else to get hurt in this case.”

Hank reached for his wrist, which revealed its chassis in his grip. “I get it, but you can’t just shove your feelings down your throat. I tried that with booze, and you know what that did to me.”

Connor’s face relaxed into a sad smile. “I’m trying.”

A shout from the direction they came turned both of their heads. Hank reluctantly released Connor’s wrist and went back to the holding cell.

Harrison, still handcuffed, had managed to fall to the ground. His face was contorted with pain, eyes shut tightly. Hank rolled his eyes, unlocking the door and helping the man back up. Harrison resisted Hank at first, flinching and trying to move away. Connor looked on from the door to the cell, watching Harrison like bird of prey.

“I believe he dislocated his shoulder,” Connor said in a monotone voice.

“No shit,” Harrison growled, glaring at the android.

Hank sighed, letting Harrison settle himself on the bench. “Connor, can you get some aspirin?”

“Of course.” Connor seemed happy to leave, taking long strides as he disappeared around a corner.

Harrison turned to look at Hank, grinning through the pain. “Must be nice to have a servant for a partner.”

“You know what?” Hank glared back. “You need to shut the fuck up.”

“Hey, you’re the one who ordered him around.” Harrison attempted to shrug with one arm. “I’m just pointing it out.”

“Fuck off,” Hank muttered, glowering. He left the cell and slammed the door back into place, locking it with a huff.

The clock on the wall read five thirty-two. The moon was in the horizon outside one of the windows, a crescent lonely in the sky. Hank tore his eyes away as he yawned, tapping his foot impatiently.

Connor finally emerged after what was a millennia to Hank, carrying aspirin and a glass of water. He didn’t look at Hank as he passed by, eyes straightforward as he opened the cell once again.

“Here,” he said simply. He thrust the glass and aspirin at Harrison.

Harrison took the aspirin with his free arm, inspected it briefly, and swallowed it dry. Without a word of gratitude, he took the glass as well. Connor paid no mind and left him.

Harrison took three gulps, Hank counted, before nearly dropping the glass. He spit the last gulp back out, spattering the floor. Hank balked at him, mouth open. Connor was smirking beside him, eyes proud as he watched Harrison.

“What the fuck!” Harrison glanced at the mess on the floor and the glass in his hand. “What the fuckin’ fuck!”

“Look who’s sober now,” Connor murmured to Hank. “I gave him vinegar.”

“Jesus, Con,” Hank chuckled, ignoring Harrison’s angry looks. “You bastard.”

Harrison’s gazed bounced between the two of them frantically before they settled on Connor. “You fuckin’ piece of scrap metal! I’ll kill you!”

“Threatening him won’t do you any good, Harrison.” Hank crossed his arms.

“You, too.” Harrison’s eyes were fire, burning with hatred Hank hadn’t seen outside of himself, from the months after Cole died. He shivered at the memory, glancing at the clock again.

Five fifty-four. Hank sighed, looking at Connor. “When does everyone get here again?”

“Six fifteen.” Connor started towards their desks. “I’ll be working on contacting Fowler. Do you want to watch him?”

“Fuck, no,” Hank replied. “But someone’s got to.”

HANK settled himself into a chair at someone’s desk, crossing his legs at the ankles and resting his hands behind his head. He looked over at Harrison. The young man was staring at the ground in front of him, pouting like a child.

“Okay, Harry,” Hank started, resting his hands on his knees. “How do you know Gabriel Brennan?”

Harrison didn’t answer, only kicking his leg out in response. Hank waited, too tired to press him. The silence rested between them for a long moment before Harrison sighed.

The young man took in a deep breath and looked up at Hank. “We’ve been friends since grade school. I’ve been his friend for pretty much all of my damn life.”

Hank let him continue. “We were brothers, you know? From another mother n’ shit. We went to college together and stuck out for each other when we needed it.”

“Then Gabe got cut from his job for some android worker, some piece of plastic that doesn’t even need the damn money.” Harrison’s eyes lit up again, their angry gaze staring into Hank with an intensity too strong for anyone his age. “He had to stay with me and my girlfriend for two years before he got back on his feet. Had to settle for some desk job at a law firm that paid nothing compared to what he had before.”

“I stuck by him. And I got his anger, you know? I understood. He deserved that job way fucking more than some robo-worker. And when an android wormed its way into his law firm, Gabe fucking lost it. I wanted to tell him to call down, but if you met this man, you’d get why I couldn’t.”

Harrison looked sincere as hell, though Hank still had another question. “So if this is true, why’d you help him and break in to tamper with our evidence?”

“I fucking told you,” Harrison raised his voice. “I’d stick my neck out for the guy. He told me to keep the cops off his ass, so I’m keeping the cops off his ass. I’m not saying that he should’ve done what he did, and I wouldn’t either. But I love him, man. I’ll save his ass over mine every damn time.”

Hank cracked his knuckles, processing. He watched Harrison watch him, studying his posture, gaze, any signs of deceit. When he didn’t find any, he lowered his hands. “You seem good, but we’ve got to keep you here. You know the law.”

Harrison nodded. Hank almost, with just a tiny sliver in his soul, felt bad for him. “Until we find Brennan, you’re staying with us,” Hank said, just to clarify. Harrison took it with a slow nod.

Connor saved him about a minute later, appearing around the corner with a cup of fresh coffee and a box of donuts. Hank smiled, eager to get away from their mess of a case.

The morning shift had arrived, Hank’s knights in police uniforms and tired eyes. Hank had other dragons to slay, following Connor back to their desks. In the time that Hank talked to Harrison, Connor had pulled up a report of all the evidence found at the crime scene back at the Darsons. Pictures of knives and walls were scattered across the surface, joined by notes upon notes.

“Con, you went ham on this case,” Hank said, impressed.

“I want to solve the case as soon as possible,” Connor deflected. “It’s only a summary of everything we already know.”

Hank nodded to an officer heading towards Harrison, then turned back to Connor. “Good job,” he said, patting Connor on the back. “We can do more stuff after I get some sleep though.”

“Of course,” Connor replied, understanding. “See you tomorrow, lieutenant.”

“It’s Hank, dimwad,” he chuckled, shaking his head. Hank walked to his own desk and grabbed his stuff before heading out the door.

He climbed into his car, letting out a deep breath as he started the car. The drive back home passed like a blink in his mind, and before he knew it, he was pulling into his driveway. Hank got out and walked up to the front door, already hearing Sumo behind it. The Saint Bernard nearly jumped on him when he finally got the door open, all happy wags and pants and slobber, that somehow got all over Hank’s face in seconds. Hank couldn’t hide his smile, petting Sumo as he tried to get in.

Door finally shut close behind him, Hank kicked off his shoes. He contemplated a glass of water and going to bed, or beer and falling asleep on the couch. The alcoholic choice was enticing until he heard Connor’s voice in his head, reminding him about the dangers of alcoholism.

Cursing at no one, Hank poured himself a glass of water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you haven't already, leave some kudos if you liked the chapter.
> 
> Have a lovely day!
> 
> — the author


	7. SEPT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things take a turn for the worse as Hank tries to catch up on his sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is quite a bit shorter than the main ones, but I'm trying not to make them too lengthy so that I can consistently update.
> 
> Mistakes are my own!

HANK was two hours into his sleep when his phone rang. Sighing, he reached for his bedside and picked up the call, too tired to look at the caller ID. He grunted out a raspy _hello_, before clearing his throat.

Connor’s voice was on the other end. “Hank? Are you awake?”

“I am now,” Hank replied, sitting up. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s better if you come here,” Connor said, sounding distracted. “To my place of residence.”

Hank felt the worry in his voice and didn’t protest. He rolled out of bed with a groan, feeling his bones crack as he put weight on his feet. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

“Thank you, Hank.” Connor was talking to someone else on the phone, though Hank wasn’t awake enough to try to listen in.

He hung up as he walked out of his room, briefly stopping by his bathroom to splash cold water on his face. Sumo was sleeping in the hallway, away from his usual spot on the couch. The Saint Bernard looked peaceful, and Hank petted him on the head gently. He poured a bowl of food for him in the kitchen, then grabbed a banana for himself. He left the house with haste, almost forgetting to lock the door behind him.

The sun was up outside, making Hank squint on his way to the car. Grunting, he got into the driver’s seat and started the car. The heat was on full blast from the cold last night, hitting Hank square in the face. He shut it off quickly.

The drive was slow, Hank caught in the morning traffic of people going to their nine to five shifts. He stopped on a highway nearly every other second, and when finally he turned off an exit he let out a long breath. The rest of his route was easy-going, turning through an urban street before arriving at the right corner.

Before he could even near Connor’s apartment he was blocked out by a swarm of fire trucks, bright red standing out against the bland grey of the block. Hank settled for a parking spot two blocks away and jumped out of his car, barely remembering to lock his car as he made his way towards the trucks.

He arrived after twenty seconds of speed walking, avoiding three strollers and a group of teenagers loitering in front of a convenience store. Hank marched up to the yellow tape and was about to go through when a firefighter stopped him. She held a hand up, eyeing him without much care as she spoke.

“Sorry, sir,” she said, already looking elsewhere. “But you’re going to have to wait if you want to go to your apartment.”

“I’m the Lieutenant,” Hank replied, standing his ground, hand on the tape. She was going to repeat herself when another firefighter approached, much younger and far happier.

“Hey, no need,” the new firefighter's voice was calmer, and he offered Hank a smile. “He isn’t lying. He solved my neighbour’s murder a few years ago. Remember him coming around and asking me a bunch questions.”

The first firefighter relaxed and moved for Hank to pass through. He tried to return the male firefighter’s smile but was in too much of a rush to look at him. He walked up to the building, scanning the crowd of emergency responders for Connor. He spotted his partner in the dark of a nearby alley, his red LED a beacon in the shadows where he stood.

Connor looked up at Hank’s approach, LED briefly yellow. Hank resisted pulling him into a tight hug and stopped in front of him. “You okay?” he asked, afraid of the answer.

“I am physically fine,” Connor said, fretting with his hands.

“What happened?”

“An explosive went off in my apartment,” Hank bit back a gasp, “I was not harmed, as I was still in the elevator. But two of my neighbours were injured.”

“Good.” Hank swallowed the worry in his throat back down. “I mean, that you’re not hurt.”

Connor nodded, fingers twitching. “My apartment was far too damaged to save. They’re going to rebuild it, but not for at least another year. I lost my home, Hank.”

Hank softened, the worry crawling back up. “I’m so sorry,” he tried.

“I know,” Connor said, his expressions both angry and sad. “I just need time to process.”

Hank kept his questions to himself, biting his lip. “Do you need somewhere to stay?”

Connor jerked up. “Oh, no. I couldn’t do that to you.”

“It’s nothing,” Hank insisted, ignoring the commotion from beyond the alley. “And I don’t want to think of you having to stay with some stranger.”

He also wanted Connor’s company, but wrong place, wrong time. Connor seemed to give in after a moment, relaxing and nodding his head. “Alright.”

“Do you have anything left here?”

“They have my mail, but that’s it.” Connor looked defeated, his eyes too tired and his tone too slow. “We can go to your house afterwards.”

Hank let Connor lead him back to the building, stopping behind him once the building was in view.

The explosive had caused minor damage to the building as a whole, most of it still standing tall while a small portion of the foundation had crumbled. The epicentre of the damage wasn’t too far above the ground, and all Hank could see was a mass of black, charred matter. He shivered, his mind imagining what might have happened if Connor was inside.

Said android caught him staring, a gentle hand on his shoulder pulling Hank out of his stare. Connor looked at him quizzically before gesturing towards the street. “Let’s leave.”

“Yeah, sure,” Hank said, feeling himself space out in his hypotheticals.

He watched himself take Connor back to the car and autopilot took over as he pulled out of the parking space. Hank’s mind blankly began the drive back. He was snapped out of it when Connor pointed out a billboard on the highway.

“Hank?” Connor asked when Hank didn’t reply. “Hank?”

“Yeah?” Hank said, suddenly aware he was about to miss his exit home. “What?”

“Nothing,” Connor sighed from the passenger seat. There was a brief pause before he spoke again. “How are you?”

“I’m,” Hank bit his lip, _tired, exhausted, running on two hours of goddamn sleep_, “good.” 

“Good.” Connor tapped his hands on the car door mindlessly. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“What?” Hank would’ve turned to look at him if not for the sudden brake of the car ahead of him. “You can always wake me up for this kind of shit. You could’ve been hurt, Con. I don’t know if you know this, but I care if you get hurt. I care, Connor.”

Connor was silent, staring straight ahead at the road. Hank felt his grip on the wheel tighten, but kept his mouth pressed tight. He felt angry, angry at Connor for thinking he wouldn’t care, and angry at whoever would blow up a building.

Hank pulled over violently a few minutes away from his neighbourhood, grip on the wheel making his knuckles white. He nearly threw himself out of the car, slamming the door behind him and breathing in deeply.

“Con.” Hank pressed his temples, willing away an oncoming headache. “You really need to quit putting yourself down.”

“What do you mean?” Connor asked as he climbed out of his seat.

Hank was nearing his limit. “You know we’re friends, right? Not just work partners?” He ignored a twinge of pain at his words, continuing. “I care about you, Connor. You can call me up any-fucking-time you need me, got it? Don’t give me your ‘I didn’t mean to bother you” bullshit. Hell,” he let out a laugh, “You can wake me up at four in the morning to talk about pizza, for all I care.”

Connor took a moment to process, staring back at Hank without any sort of emotion. His LED spun yellow before he spoke. “Alright.”

“Alright?” Hank repeated. He tilted his head. “Connor, I mean this.”

“I know,” Connor blinked, clearly holding back. “I’ll do my best to not,” he paused, “Put myself down. Like you said.”

Hank opened his mouth, but before he could reply a yawn came out. Connor raised an eyebrow. “How about I drive the rest of the way?”

“That’d be great,” Hank kept back another yawn, walking around to the passenger seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave some kudos or a comment if you liked the chapter. I hope you have a lovely day! :)
> 
> — the author


	8. HUIT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HANK and CONNOR get used to spending more time together than usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right on time! I hope everyone had a great Halloween. [ if you celebrate it ]

HANK slept seven hours, forty-eight minutes, and eleven seconds. Connor told him over a cup of coffee he must have brewed just minutes before Hank walked into the kitchen. Hank shook his head, muttering something about being a creep under his breath.

Memories of the fire at Connor’s residence and the conversation on the side of the road came back to memory. He ignored them, sipping his coffee and glancing at Sumo’s bowl. “You fed Sumo?”

“Of course,” Connor said calmly. “You were sleeping, and he was hungry.”

Hank spotted the dog on the couch, lazily chewing on a toy. He set his coffee on the counter and approached the Saint Bernard. “Hey, Sumo,” he said, patting his lap as he spoke. “Wanna go for a walk?”

Sumo lit up, tail wagging and looking up at Hank with bright eyes. He jumped up, causing Hank to nearly jump back onto the couch behind him. Connor laughed from the kitchen. Hank brushed off his legs, feeling his face go red as he composed himself.

“Shut up,” Hank called out. He stood up, looking around for the leash. He found it in a drawer, surrounded by old mail and receipts. “Gotta clean this place sometime,” he muttered.

Connor was loading the dishwasher, humming some commercial jingle that Hank’s brain pulled out of nowhere in recognition. Hank threw him an annoyed look as he made his way to the door, Sumo in tow.

Evening light filled everywhere the street lights couldn’t, the purple and reddish sky above casting everything in an acid-trip like hue. Hank lasted almost a minute without his brain thinking of the events from the past twenty-four hours, a mess of adrenaline and Harrison and firefighters that made hims stop at a bench while Sumo sniffed at a bush. He held his head in his hands as he tried to process, staring at his feet.

The late shift. Harrison. The drive back home. A call. A tiring commute to the city and a shitty parking spot. The burning building, the heavy smell of ash and death in the air. The fear for Connor’s safety, the relief at spotting him.

The impulse to hold him and never let go.

Hank took a deep breath. He blamed it on adrenaline, a human instinct in the heat of the moment. Sumo, now sitting in front of him, looked at Hank and wagged his tail happily. Hank considered the benefits of being a dog, shook his head, and got off the bench. He turned back to the house, grimacing as he remembered the building in shambles.

Sumo tugged at his leash. Hank hadn’t realised he had stopped. He picked up his feet and continued approaching the house. The walk to the front door was filled with whines as Sumo trudged up the steps, tail sagging behind him. Hank snickered. “Can’t stay out here forever, boy,” he said as he untied his shoes.

Connor opened the door for him before his hand even reached the wood of the door. The younger man had a smile on his face which grew even brighter when Sumo tackled him. Hank trailed in behind the two of them, noticing the warmth everywhere.

“Whatcha cooking in here, Con?” he asked, grabbing a bottle of beer in his kitchen and seating himself at the counter. He was slightly surprised Connor hadn’t commented on his supply of alcohol yet, considering how much concern the man showed for his health.

“Not much,” Connor said, still petting Sumo. “Thought I might try baking, too pass the time. I hope I wasn’t intruding.”

“You weren’t.” Hank eyed him carefully. “I didn’t take you for the baking type.”

“I’m trying something new.”

Hank bit his lip again, a little too hard. Not enough to draw blood, but he winced nonetheless. The topic of what to do next was festering in his mind, and he was stuck in the house, with Connor presumably, for the rest of the week. Though, solving their dumpster fire of a case wasn’t much of an alternative.

Connor’s voice interjected his thoughts. “You shouldn’t drink more than a bottle at this time of day, lieutenant.”

“I just opened the damn thing,” Hank groaned, “and quit it with the ‘lieutenant’ bullshit.”

Connor simply shook his head, going to the kitchen to watch the oven. “I made a cake.”

“Why?” Hank leaned forward on his elbows. “You can’t even eat it. Or more than a slice, at least.”

“It was something to do.” His answer didn’t make any sense to Hank.

“Whatever.” Hank nursed the bottle, already halfway through. “You okay though?” His voice took on a softer tone.

Connor looked up at him. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Connor.” Hank furrowed his brow. “You apartment got torched.”

“It was destroyed by an explosive, not a fire,” Connor said matter-of-factly, eyes back on the oven. “And I am fine, Hank.”

“Who the fuck is _fine_ after they lost their fucking home?” Hank tried not to get angry. “You don’t have to shut yourself off. We’ve talked about this.”

“There’s nothing to say.”

“Really?”

Connor reached for a drawer, then closed it, brandishing a pair of oven mitts Hank had forgotten he had. They had little flowers on it, small yellow petals that stood out against a rose background. Probably from his ex-wife. Connor put them on without a word, pulling open the oven and taking out the cake.

Hank ignored his watering mouth and tried to continue. “I can’t help you if you don’t ask for help.”

“I’m not asking for help.” Connor stuck a butter knife into the cake. It came out dry. “You don’t have to pity me.”

“I’m not pitying you.” Hank finished the bottle, and he felt his hands reaching out for another. “I want to help because we’re friends, Connor.”

“Are we?” Connor’s LED flashes a bright red, something Hank hadn’t seen in a long time. It was gone before he could say anything.

“Yes,” Hank said with closed teeth.

Connor took the mitts off, placing them back into their respective drawer. “I don’t want to talk about this, if that’s alright with you.”

“Connor, you can’t just—”

“No,” he insisted. Hank shut up without question. “I don’t want to discuss this. Not today, maybe not this week. I just want to solve this case. Alright?”

A tiny voice in the back of Hank’s brain reminded him the case was the first android murder they had gotten since the revolution. Fowler had given them mostly human homicides during the winter, but no one else could take the case this time around.

Hank hadn’t thought much of it, relieved as he wasn’t quite sure how he would react to the violent anti-android crimes that skyrocketed in the aftermath of the revolution. Connor hadn’t mentioned much of it, besides the occasional interactions he had with Markus, who was now fighting for android rights across the country, but Hank saw them on the news when he got home from work. He didn’t mention them to Connor.

Trying to decipher the RK800 may as well have been hieroglyphics, reading them only got harder the more you squinted.

Connor offered a slice to Hank, pleading eyes boring into his. “Please.”

Hank nodded, unable to say anything besides a small _thank you_.

THE AWKWARD SILENCE hung around until late into the night, keeping their mouths shut until Connor asked Hank if they should watch TV. It was late, the only thing airing being news, bad sitcoms, and Spanish soap operas. Connor picked a soap opera when Hank handed him the remote. Two women were sitting in their apartment, one of them yelling at the other, so fast that Hank bet if she yelled in English he still wouldn’t catch a thing.

“You’re kidding me.” Hank gestured to the screen, looking at Connor. “You like these?”

“I’ve never seen one before,” Connor answered, watching the episode intently.

“I can’t with your taste in entertainment,” Hank said, laughing so loud Connor raised the volume. “First, that movie, and now this?”

Connor’s LED was a brief yellow. “I don’t see why you find it so peculiar. I understand that you do not understand the language the show is produced in. Yet, I’ve seen several collections of seasons of Japanese anime shows throughout your household.”

“Okay, okay, jeez.” Hank put his hands up in defense. “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”

When he returned, the young woman on the screen was wailing to one of her friends, mascara running down her face. Connor noticed Hank’s confusion, explaining the entire episode with an impossibly straight face.

“The woman crying is Angelica. Her boyfriend broke up with her for one of the girls on her college science club.” Connor pointed to one of the friends comforting Angelica. “That’s Maria, she’s the president of the science club, and they’re planning on getting the girl kicked out.”

“Wow,” Hank said, settling back onto the couch beside Connor. “You really like it, huh?”

“No,” Connor replied, watching Angelica and Maria sneak into a classroom. “I find it interesting, though shallow.”

“Great.” Hank reached over him for the remote. “Wanna watch shitty local news?”

“Of course.” Connor gave Hank a small smile.

The network Hank found had just finished covering the explosion at Connor’s apartment, moving onto a heroic dog who saved a drowning boy at a lake upstate. Hank glanced over at Sumo, who was already sleeping. Connor was silent beside him, watching the screen boredly.

“What?” Hank tried to lighten the mood, shifting on the couch to lean on the armrest so he could face Connor. “You prefer the soap opera?”

“Oh, no.” Connor turned to look at him. “Lost in thought.”

Hank resisted asking why, remembering their argument earlier. “You calling in sick tomorrow?”

“Fowler has excused my absence for the next two days. I informed him that you offered to host me until I find a better living situation.”

Hank wanted to tell him he could stay here forever. “Guess we’ll both be around.”

“I assume so.” Connor took the remote back from Hank, turning the screen off. “It’s late.”

The clock on the wall read nine sixteen. “It’s night, Connor. It’s not late.”

“You should go to bed, Hank. In order to reset your body clock.”

“It’s barely nine.” Hank got off the couch to pour himself a cup of cold coffee. “You’re not my mom.”

Connor smirked. “Would you like me to be?”

“What?” Hank looked back at him with an eyebrow raised. “No. Fuck no.”

“Of course.” Connor followed Hank, intercepting his journey to the coffee machine. “You shouldn’t have coffee either.”

“Shut up.” Hank tried to move around him, reaching around Connor to grab a cup. “Before I start asking you to tuck me in.”

“I can do that as well,” Connor assured him, grabbing Hank’s hands. “I could read you a bedtime story, too.”

“Fuck you.”

“Is that how you talk to your mother?” Connor still had that smirk on his face. Hank wanted to kick him in the balls. If Connor had any.

He gave up and stepped back, exasperated. “Fine. I’ll go to sleep. Happy?”

Connor smiled. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the past few chapters have been a bit tame, but it'll get more intense as we continue. I promise. :)
> 
> Leave a comment or kudos if you liked the chapter, they always make my day.
> 
> [ also i'm too old for trick or treating and now i have way too much candy lmao ]
> 
> [ edit from a week after this update: i had a huge project this week that took up about 80% of the time I spend writing for this fic, so the following update will be briefly postponed. sorry everyone! ]


	9. NEUF

Hank didn’t see Connor the next morning as he walked into the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee after he gave up on waiting and turned on the television for noise. He let Sumo out into the yard when he wouldn’t stop pestering him and getting up on Hank and whining. 

Hank stood in the kitchen, wondering what to do. Fowler had sent him an email, saying he and Connor would be on paid leave until Sunday. Hank was grateful, though the thoughts of the case still hung around in his mind. He wanted to solve it, before it fucked up his and Connor’s lives any further. He had woken up from a nightmare the night before, where he and Connor were stuck in the burning building. The fear and anger he felt had been bubbling in him for the past twenty four hours. The case was getting too personal for him, and he wanted to finish it and detach himself away from it as far away as he could.

Shaking his head to clear his mind, Hank walked over to the sink and put his empty cup in. He thought about starting the dishwasher when he heard the doorbell ring.

Connor was back, standing on his doorstep with a bag of groceries in hand. He smiled when Hank opened the door. “Good morning,” he said in a cheerful voice.

“Morning,” Hank glanced at the clock on the living room wall. “It’s almost noon, where were you?”

“I had to clear up a few things with Fowler.” Connor moved past Hank to set the groceries down on the kitchen counter. “I hope I wasn’t missed.”

“Not too much,” Hank replied, peering inside the bags. “What d’you get?”

“Just few items that were expired.” Connor pulled out a carton of eggs and placed it in the fridge. “I wanted to help.”

“Thanks, but you don’t have to prove yourself or some shit.”

“Of course.” Connor nodded, getting out a bag of rice. Hank didn’t remember the last time he’s made rice, or if he even knew how to make it. “I still want to help.”

Sumo was slobbering on the back door, paws up against the glass as he stared at Connor. The two of them laughed, Hank sauntering over to open it for him. Sumo barged in, nearly tackling Connor and the onions he was holding. Hank laughed when the onions went tumbling to the floor, one of them reaching his feet.

Connor reached down to pick up the onions when Sumo got bored of him, trying not to smile. “What are you laughing at?”

“Your goofy ass,” Hank said, grinning. He picked up the rogue onion next to his foot. “What are all these onions for anyway?”

“Dinner, and other meals.” Connor put them into the small pantry, next to a box of crackers Hank hadn’t seen in a month.

“You really are my mother, huh?”

“Shut your mouth,” Connor said, sticking his tongue out.

Hank watched Connor work, emptying the bags one by one, sorting the contents into their respective places. He zoned out for a moment, and when Connor pulled him back down to Earth the bags were empty.

“Earth to the lieutenant.” Connor looked at him quizzically. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Hank shook his head, forgetting what he was thinking about.

“Whatever you say,” Connor replied, putting the bags into a drawer. He looked around the kitchen. _Probably doing some scan to see how much of a mess I am._ “When are you going back to the precinct?”

“If Fowler keeps off my ass, in two days,” Hank chuckled. “Not that I’ve got anything to do anyway.”

Connor nodded. “I understand.”

Hank racked through his mind for something to talk about. “Your cake was good.”

Connor took a brief pause before replying, but it was enough for Hank to fully process what he had said. He flushed red, facepalming. “The one you baked, I mean. Damnit.”

The RK800 tilted his head, the meaning clicking. His LED spun yellow before Connor answered. “Of course.”

Hank chose to stare at Sumo instead, watching the dog doze off on the couch. Hank’s memory of his night with Connor, watching the movie together. He blinked it away, grunting as he got up from his chair.

Connor looked up, surprised at the sudden movement. “Where are you going?”

“Somewhere.” Hank said, grabbing a jacket he’d left on the couch. 

HANK left the house in a daze, feeling his body guide him to his car and out of his neighbourhood without really feeling it. He felt like he was a ghost possessing Hank Anderson, doing things without much control or thought. The only thing grounding him was his grip on the steering wheel, turning his knuckles a bony white. The pale colour reminded him of Connor’s chassis, and any thoughts of that night made him press harder on the gas.

He turned into a gas station and filled his tank silently, cursing himself as he realised he had forgotten his credit card at home. His grimace only faltered when he found a twenty behind a crinkled coupon. He trudged up to the gas station, making a beeline for the cashier once past the doors. The young woman behind the counter looked up at him with an annoyed glare and rolled her eyes, asking him what pump he had.

“Eight,” Hank grumbled, wincing as the smell of tobacco hit him. He had quit just before winter, giving into Connor’s advice. The strong aroma made him want to ask for a pack, but he restrained himself.

The woman played oblivious to the clear discomfort on Hank’s face and handed him his change. She dismissed him without a word, pulling out her phone and absentmindedly pulling on her hair. Hank sighed, taking the cash and turning to leave, only to run into someone.

Harrison was in front of Hank, clutching his forehead. Hank was too taken aback to even notice that they had clashed heads. The younger man was wincing, even though Hank was sure he was only exaggerating.

“It’s you,” Hank said, raising an eyebrow.

Harrison’s eyes met his, and Hank could see the recognition slowly spread across his face. “Oh shit.”

“What are you doing here?” Hank asked, crossing his arms. He wasn’t in the mood to take anymore shit, especially from Harrison.

“Came here to see my girlfriend, old man. They let me go last night,” Harrison snapped, still holding his forehead. Hank could see a small bruise. Maybe Harrison wasn’t as immature as Hank thought. “And the fuck are you doing here?”

“Your girlfriend?” Hank held back a laugh. “Where?’

“Right behind you, dumbass,” Harrison replied with a grin. He leaned around Hank and grinned. “Hey, Nellie.”

“Hey,” said the voice of the cashier. “My shift doesn’t end till three, babe.”

“I know,” Harrison said, ignoring Hank and moving around him. “Brought you some food.”

Hank let the young man past and watched him kiss his girlfriend. Nellie, or whatever Harrison called her, frowned at Hank when she caught his eye, taking the bag of food from Harrison.

“How do you know that guy, Harry?” she said, giving Harrison heart eyes that made Hank want to rip each one of his organs slowly.

“Some bastard from the police with all of Gabe’s shit,” Harrison answered, giving Hank a quick stare before turning back to her. “Doesn’t matter.”

“How do you know Gabriel Brennan?” Hank cut in, furrowing his eyebrows at the two of them.

Nellie gave Hank an odd look. “Why wouldn’t I know my boyfriend’s best friend?”

Hank ignored Harrison’s deathly stare. “When did you see him last?”

“A day before he dipped out on us,” Nellie said, tugging on her hair. “He wanted some help with some. . .”

Her voice trailed off as Harrison turned his stare on her.

Hank made a mental note of it, then pretended as to not have seen it. “Oh well,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Harrison.”

“Buzz off, old man,” was all Harrison said, not looking at Hank.

Hank left, fishing in his pocket for his keys. He shoved them into ignition once he got into the car, mind already churning with ideas of what Harrison might know. He drove off, ignoring the two missed calls on his phone screen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is incredibly late, especially since I was supposed to post it in late november. Thank you, for sticking through if you have. This is now part of a series, as I don't want to post everything into one long fic. You can subscribe to the series [here](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556470). The story will get more intense in the next couple chapters, so stay tuned.
> 
> The next update will be a lot sooner than this one. Thanks, again.
> 
> — the author <3


	10. DIX

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank and Connor return to the precinct when there's a new development in the case.

Hank didn’t have long to dwell on his interaction with Harrison. He came back to find Connor gone, yet again, to fix more legal shit with his address. Hank tried to stay awake, turning on his television and scrolling the channel guide before he felt himself falling asleep. He went to bed well beyond a time Connor would approve of, and the next day both he and Connor were called into the precinct.

Hank tried to make small talk with Connor on the way there, but every time he spoke Connor looked away. Hank tried three times before giving up and driving in silence. The path to work was miserably familiar, and Hank felt like he was too sober to do a shift.

Jeffery Fowler was at Hank’s desk when he trailed in behind Connor. The captain bore an angry look on his face. He caught Hank’s eyes fiercely, crossing his arms as Hank approached. Connor didn’t say anything as he left for his desk, throwing Hank a quick empathetic glance.

“I’ve called you countless times, Hank,” Fowler began, frowning. “You’re a lieutenant, I expect more from you than ignorance.”

“What calls?” Hank didn’t remember seeing his phone ring. Though, that wasn’t an oddity.

“I’ve been calling your damn cell for an hour,” Fowler replied, narrowing his eyes. “And now I know your voicemail too goddamn well to forget it.”

“I didn’t get—” Hank pulled out his phone and opened his call log, only to see that he had fifty missed calls from Jeffery. “Shit.”

“I need you, Hank,” Fowler continued, not bothering to let Hank apologise. “Today especially.”

“Sorry, Jeffery,” Hank said, putting his phone back. “Guess it’s been on silent.”

“I don’t care about your excuses. Your suspect is on the loose and he’s just left another trail of breadcrumbs for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s done it again,” Fowler said, uncrossing his arms. His face relaxed, but only slightly. “Somehow got out into the suburbs. ‘Nother murder, male AX400. There aren’t any crime scene photos yet so you’re going to the scene.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding.” Hank groaned. “We just got back.”

“Oh, and about that. There’s an investigation on the recent explosion at Connor’s address.” Fowler began to head towards his office. “Most of the questioning has been completed, but Connor may not be available as your partner this week.”

“Great,” Hank called out, already tired. “Thanks for the good news, Jeffery.”

Fowler rolled his eyes and shut the door behind him. Hank turned to Connor.

“You ready to go?” Hank fished for his keys. “I want to hit the highway before the morning rush hour hits.”

Connor was glancing over something on his desktop. “The rush hour began approximately fifteen minutes ago.”

“Whatever,” Hank said. He glanced over into the breakroom, catching a glimpse of the coffee machine. “I’m going to grab a coffee.”

Connor nodded at him, turning off the desktop. “I’ll be waiting.”

“Here,” he tossed Connor the keys, “Find something on the radio.”

“Like the Knights of the Black Death?” Connor smirked.

Hank laughed, making his way to the break room. “Shut up, Con.”

HANK walked out into the parking lot, warm cup in hand. Sure, the coffee was about an hour old, but Hank wasn’t going to let a cup of coffee piss him off. He poured himself a cup, not bothering to put sugar in it.

Gavin Reed was walking into work as Hank approached his car, where Connor was waiting. Hank almost didn’t see him, too busy scrolling through the rest of his missed calls.

Gavin spotted him first, stopping in front of Hank. “Do you need help with your groceries, old man?”

“Fuck off, Reed.” Hank glared at him. “Go bother RK900’s ass, not mine.”

“You know, they say seniors shouldn’t drive,” Gavin said, grinning. “Maybe you should let Connor do it for you.”

“I said fuck off,” Hank repeated. He smiled. “And look who’s late now?”

“At least I don’t have some plastic prick on my ass all the time,” Gavin said, leaving with a bounce in his step. “See you never,” he called out, walking backwards towards the precinct.

Hank chose to say goodbye with a finger.

Connor was waiting for him in the car, fiddling with a penny that Hank had left amidst the junk in his car. The coin made its way between his fingers gracefully, falling only when Connor turned to look at Hank.

“I saw you speak to Gavin,” he said, carefully.

“Some people never change, Con,” Hank replied, wincing as he felt himself sit on something. “We got enough gas?”

“Yes,” Connor LED spun yellow, “the crime scene is twenty three miles away. We have a surplus of fifty eight miles in the tank.”

“Great.” Hank turned the keys in the ignition. “Let’s go before you kill my battery.”

The car roared to life, and they were on the highway in minutes. Hank went into auto-pilot as they approached their exit, mind wandering towards the case and Harrison.

“Hey, Con.”

Connor put away his coin. “Yes, Hank?”

“You good?” Hank watched the fields of grass turn into suburban neighbourhoods.

Connor nodded. “I heard you talking to Detective Reed.”

“That asshole never gives me a fucking break.” Hank let his grip on the wheel loosen. “So, what are we driving into?”

“A male AX400 android, Ryan Reynold, was murdered in his home, which he shared with his human partner. There were no witnesses, and there was little damage to the property.”

“Ryan Reynolds?” Hank chuckled.

“Ryan Reynold.” Connor repeated.

“Anyways,” Hank turned into a neighbourhood that was nearly hidden by trees, “I saw Harrison yesterday.”

“RK900 told me he was released.”

“Yeah.” They hit a pothole. “Fuckin’ Christ.”

“Be careful.” Connor said, without enough concern to be a warning.

“He was seeing his girlfriend. They both saw Brennan a few days before he disappeared. They were helping him out with something.”

“Maybe to obtain weapons?” Connor told Hank to take a right. “Brennan hasn’t purchased a firearm. He could have his friend get one for him.”

“Makes sense.” The house was around a corner. “We’re here.”

THE CRIME SCENE was objectively better than the last one. The benefits of dealing with a case in the suburbs is the quiet surrounding the crime scene. Without the white noise of the city, the only sounds were the mumblings of first responders about the night shift night cleaning the coffee pot. The house stood behind a row of small trees, each with small leaves just starting to regrow.

Hank trailed behind Connor, nursing his own lukewarm coffee. A first responder caught his eye and glared at him. Hank smiled, taking another sip.

Connor stopped Hank in front of the house. “Alright,” he said. “The victim is in the kitchen. I’ll go look upstairs for anything that will help us narrow down our list is suspects.”

“Roger that, sir.” Hank gave Connor a fake salute.

Connor rolled his eyes. “Tell me if you find anything important. This shouldn’t take long.”

The house was more spacious than it appeared, an open space layout that let sunlight reach every corner. Hank had to squint his eyes before he could see the mess that was the living room. Eyes adjusted, he took in the living room in front of him.

Whatever wasn’t out of place was covered in blood. A loveseat was splattered with blood, both red and blue. Hank walked around a chair on its side and approached what looked like the biggest mess, a large pool of red blood on the loveseat that hadn’t quite dried. As he went to look closer, he saw something shine off in the corner of his eye. Hank abandoned the loveseat and headed over to the far wall.

Closer, he could see it was a tablet, screen broken as if someone had dropped it. Hank slipped on the gloves in his pockets and squatted to pick it up. The screen turned on after three presses, barely readable with cracks and glitches that left a majority of the screen unreadable. As Hank waited for it to reboot, he turned it over in his hands. The back of it was covered in finger-like splotches of blood, both red and blue.

At last, the lock screen appeared, a picture of three people in a park. Hank recognised the face of the victim and the owner of the home. The third face was that of a young woman whom Hank would swear he had seen before. Upon further inspection, he saw that it was the woman murdered at Darsons, Annabelle Pattersons.

“Shit.” Hank let out a long breath as he put the tablet down. He bit his lip, staring at the still bright screen. He cracked his knuckles, an old habit he had forgotten about, and picked it up again. “Fucking shit.”

He had just opened the screen when Connor entered from the kitchen. Hank turned to face him, still looking at the screen. “Con, I got something.”

“The tablet.” Connor had his gloves on, though Hank couldn’t think of any reason why an android would need them. Maybe Connor was a clean freak. “I was told it was broken.”

“It’s that model from two years ago,” Hank said, finally looking up at him. “My cousin sent me one for Christmas. You’ve got to press the button a few times. Some glitch they never fixed.”

“Interesting.” Connor took the tablet from him. His optimistic smile faded into a deep frown. “Hank.”

“What?” Hank moved closer to look over his shoulder.

The webpage left open was an android manual. Hank scanned over the paragraphs, lengthy blobs that went on about each complex component. He was confused until he saw the model name at the top.

“An RK800 manual,” Connor rasped, his voice cutting out on the last syllable.

“Fuck.” Hank took the tablet and scrolled. He checked the history. The pages open before were about hacking androids of the RK series. His hands were twitching as he remembered the explosion at Connor’s apartment. “Shit. Fuck.”

Connor’s hands were still up, as if he still had the tablet. His LED was a bright red. “Please refrain from cursing.”

“Fuck no, Con.” Hank crossed his arms, tucking the tablet under his arm. “Brennan is clearly targeting you. We can’t just pretend that this is a normal case.”

Connor glared at him. “It hasn’t been a normal case for two weeks, Hank.”

“I know that, damnit.” Hank could feel the warmth of the screen through his jacket. He couldn’t stop the raising volume of his voice. “You think I don’t know that?”

“You don’t act as if you do. For all I know, you’ve been left unscathed by the case.”

“Yeah, like seeing your apartment getting blown up is unscathed.” Hank was clenching his fists, the stress from the past week resurfacing. “I care, Con. Why don’t you fucking get that?”

“It’s not enough!” Connor took a step forward. “Not in a way that matters.”

“The fuck are you talking about?” Hank lowered his voice, trying to dial down his anger. “Connor, do you want me to care about you or not?”

“Let’s solve the case,” Connor said, not answering his question. He moved around Hank, back into the kitchen.

Hank grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. “We can’t just keep avoiding this. Answer me, Connor.”

“I said,” Connor’s LED had been red for at least three minutes, “let’s solve the case. We can discuss this later.”

“Well, I want to talk about it now.” Hank stood his ground. “Avoidng shit like this is why I’ve been alone as fuck since. . .”

Connor understood what he meant. “I just want to talk about it somewhere else.”

“We’re here,” Hank said, letting go of Connor’s arm. “Sure, there’s blood on the walls, but we’re alone. I don’t mind.”

Connor looked around. “It can wait.”

“I can’t.” Hank tried to think of whatever secret Connor might be thinking. “Is it me? Am I not a good enough friend? If you want a new partner it’s—”

“No!” Connor’s voice was so loud that Hank dropped the tablet onto the floor, further breaking it. “It’s not you. I promise.”

“Then, what?” Hank heard the sound of the paramedics leaving, followed by the quieter noise of the patrollers. “If you think I’d hate you, I won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Connor said.

“We’ll find out. Tell me, Con.”

“Hank.”

“Tell me.” He felt his heart rate rise, the anticipation building up. “Now or never.”

“I like you,” Connor said, almost a whisper.

“What?” Hank took a step back.

“I have a crush on you,” Connor said it louder, LED still red. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Hank’s heart was out of control. Any responses he had evaporated instantly. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Connor’s LED flashed yellow. “What am I supposed to do with that, Hank?”

“I’m sorry,” Hank scratched his neck, feeling heat rush to his face. “It’s been a while.”

Connor opened his mouth to reply but closed it instead, any angry he had dissipating. The two of them stared at the tablet at Hank’s feet. Hank could hear rain with the noise of them yelling gone, a soft rhythm that filled the silence.

Hank tried to put a sentence together. “I. . . I didn’t think you’d, well, like me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I just thought,” Hank sighed, “I’d be the old hag you worked with during the revolution. Didn’t think anyone would look past that, you know?”

“Of course not.” Connor’s LED was blue. “You were never just an ‘old hag’ to me. You’ve always been an amazing friend.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank waved a hand at him. “You’re just saying that.”

“I mean it.” Connor took his arm this time, holding on tightly. “You’ve been kind to me and offered to help me whenever I needed it. I deviated because of you, Hank. Because you’re amazing.”

“Is that why you brought Call Me By Your Name? Is that your method of confessing your undying love?”

Connor laughed, easing the tension for both of them. “No, but I did think about that.”

“You’re crazy, Con. You know that?” Hank joined in on the laughter, relaxing.

“I am well aware of my insanity just as much as I am of yours.” Connor smiled.

“Very kind of you,” Hank replied.

Connor moved closer and took Hank’s hand. Just like that night before, his chassis faded, revealing a stark white unlike Hank’s complexion. This time, Hank intertwined their fingers.

“It’s raining,” he said softly.

“I know.” Hank hadn’t expected Connor’s hands to be as warm as they were. The warmth was comforting, and Hank didn’t want to let them go anytime soon. “It’s been raining for a while.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay. Finals season is approaching [ at least for me ] and I've been two weeks behind schedule. The sheer amount of inconveniences I've had between today and the last update has been crazy. But I made it.
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking around. I'm doing my best, and the story will go back to mostly normal updates post-holiday season.
> 
> Happy holidays! And a great end of 2019 to you all
> 
> — lots of love from the author <3


	11. ONZE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hank asks Harrison a few more questions regarding new developments.

Connor spent the following day doing interviews with investigators and the press. He left Hank that morning with a hopeful smile on his face, but held back from any contact. Hank was disappointed, yet grateful as the two of them hadn’t tried to discuss what exactly they were after leaving the scene. Accordingly, Hank walked into the precinct alone. He was late.

Gavin saw him almost immediately, a grin appearing on his face. “Look, the senior’s back,” he said aloud, smirking.

Officer Chen gave Hank an awkward before walking off into the break room. Gavin followed her, not before flipping Hank off.

Hank sat down at his desk with a huff and started up his desktop. Just as the screen loaded, he got a text from Connor.

**Con:** _Please call in Harrison Beckett. I sent you an email with his address and phone number. The friend of the victim is still too traumatised for questioning, so we can talk to her tomorrow._

**Hank:** _got it._

**Hank:** _you good?_

**Con:** _Of course._

Hank typed out another question, thought better of it, and put his phone away. He opened his email and scanned for Connor’s name. He opened the email, typed the address into his phone, and called the number. He held the phone to his ear, tapping his desk mindlessly. After the eighth ring, Harrison picked up.

“Harrison Beckett?” Hank asked, to make sure.

There was a loud bang and a series of muffled sounds before a voice spoke, clear, but female.

“Who is this?” He recognised the voice of Harrison’s girlfriend.

“Lieutenant Anderson. From the Detroit Police Department. I’m looking for Harrison Beckett?”

She called for Harrison. After a long minute of shuffling and loud noises, Harrison spoke. “Hello?”

“Harry,” Hank closed his email, “We’ve got a few more questions for you today. Could you come in?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s the Lieutenant. Be here by eleven.”

“I’m not doing shit for you,” Harrison sneered. “I’ve got a life, you know.”

“And I’ve got a case. Just show up, alright?” Hank glanced at the break room and wondered if anyone had brewed any coffee.

Harrison had already hung up on him. Hank looked for his keys.

NO ONE had brewed coffee yet when Hank got to the break room. Nor had anyone cleaned the pot. Hank resorted to the instant coffee, pouring packet after packet of sugar in to counter the bitterness. He was on his way out the door when he got another text.

**Con:** _Hi, Hank. Could you ask RK900 if he has any access to any of my documents?_

Hank let go of the door and looked around the break room. He spotted Gavin at the sink, washing a coffee stain off of his jacket.

“Hey, Reed.” Hank walked over to him. “You seen RK900 anywhere?”

“Fuck off,” Gavin grumbled, tapping away at his phone.

“Jeez, just asking.” Hank put his hands up in the air. “Really, have you seen him?”

“No, I said fuck off,” Gavin said, glaring at Hank.

“Fine.” Hank shrugged and left the breakroom.

RK900 was either hiding from Hank, or for the first time, in most likely his lifetime, he didn’t show up for work. Hank walked around the array of desks twice before giving up and heading to the front desk.

The secretary smiled at him. “Good morning, lieutenant.”

“Hey.” Hank tried to smile. “Is RK900 here today?”

“Let me look.” The secretary typed into his keyboard for a long moment before looking back at Hank. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Thanks.” Hank’s smile was a failure.

He made it back to his desk, still holding his keys. It was three minutes past eleven, meaning that Hank had six hours left in his shift to interview Harrison. Connor hadn’t sent another text since he last checked.

**Hank:** _ he’s not here_

**Connor:** _ What do you mean?_

**Hank:** _ didn’t show up, i guess_

**Connor:** _ Are you sure?_

**Hank:** _yup._

HANK wouldn’t call himself an angry man. He’d improved himself greatly since he met Connor, and would have to do more improvement if he wanted to keep him. Still, all in all, Hank was not an angry man.

However, two accidents on the highway were pushing his limits. His coffee had gone cold twelve minutes ago and his arm kept falling asleep every other minute. The cars around him were of no help. Some bastard to his left didn’t realise that honking their horn wouldn’t make a difference.

Hank tried texting Connor for entertainment after he got past the first accident, but his new partner—though Hank wasn’t sure if they could put a label on whatever the hell they had—was stuck in an interview with a local news station. Connor told him he “needed to focus on the interview,” and they “could talk later.”

Hank took a sip of his coffee. The crappiness was almost stimulating.

THIS MORNING, there was a new sticky note on Hank’s bathroom mirror. A simple, perfect heart, among his own. It stood in contrast against the demeaning, if not pessimistic notes Hank had left for himself.

He smiled at it and left the bathroom.

HANK arrived after an hour. The sun was at its brightest above him, making him shield his eyes. He thought of shrugging off his jacket, but kept it on when he walked into the cool lobby.

The receptionist smiled up at him through blonde hair. “Good morning.”

“Morning.” Hank threw a glance around the room. The only other person there was a young man in a hood going through his mail. “I’m from the DPD. You know where I’d findHarrison Beckett?”

“Just upstairs, second floor.” The secretary’s coffee smelled of sugar and chocolate. Hank remembered seeing a shop on the way. “Number twelve. Anything else I could help you with?”

“Thanks,” Hank said, trying to smile.

The elevator took three seconds to arrive. Hank got in, immediately wincing at the musty smell. If dust had a smell, he was sure it was the exact scent of the space. Lucky for him, he only had to go up one floor, and he got out as quickly as his legs would let him.

The corridor had three doors, and the number twelve was on the last one. Hank gave the door a loud knock. “Harrison Beckett, it’s the lieutenant. From the DPD. I’ve got to ask a few questions.”

“Buzz off,” came the voice from the other side of the door. It was Harrison’s.

“Sorry, I can’t. I just need to ask you about a couple things.”

“Can I say no?” Harrison opened the door, standing in front of Hank in dirty sweats and a black tee. “I’m busy.”

“No,” Hank said. He looked past him and into the apartment. “Is your girlfriend here?”

“Just left,” Harrison said, yawning. He turned and walked away from the door, leaving it open. “Had a shift today.”

The apartment wasn’t the cleanest, with stains on the couch and table. The TV was on, tuned to the Spanish soap opera that Connor watched. Hank took a seat on the chair, grimacing at the orange stain on it as he sat down.

“Where do you work?” Hank was shit at starting conversations, and years of experience in the force hadn’t made him any better. “When you’re not breaking into the station.”

“I’m a manager at Ricky’s,” Harrison said as he sat on the couch.. “It’s a burger place twenty minutes north of here. Pretty good food.”

Hank nodded, trying his best to settle into the chair. “Where did you meet Gabriel Brennan, again?”

“Back in fourth grade.” Harrison looked away from a moment. “Our teacher put us next to each other on the first day. He wouldn’t shut the fuck up, and I punched him square on the nose at the end of the week. The teacher made me take him to the nurse, and I said sorry. We were friends after that. Now I punch people who punch him.”

“When did you think he was going to do,” Hank cleared his throat, “this kind of thing?”

Harrison cracked his knuckles. “Few weeks after Annabelle showed up. I tried to distract him, I just thought he didn’t like her. Didn’t think it was serious.”

“Do you think he’d do it again?”

Harrison looked at Hank. “What do you mean?”

“He’s a main suspect for a murder in the suburbs. The victim was a friend of Brennan’s first victim.”

“Is that why you came here to ask me more questions?” Harrison stood up.

“Yes,” Hank answered, eyeing him carefully.

“You think he did it?” Harrison raised his voice. “You got any evidence?”

“Only circumstantial evidence,” Hank said, as calmly as he could. “He’s the only suspect we have that fits our descriptions.”

Harrison deflated a little at Hank’s answer. “I could see him doing that.”

“Doing what?” Hank was urging him on.

Harrison sighed and sat back down. “He’s different now, you know. He doesn’t act the same, since he killed that girl.”

Hank opened his mouth, then thought of a different question. “Have you been speaking to Gabriel Brennan since his disappearance?”

“He calls me on burner phones.” Harrison looked at his hands. “Always in some fucking rush. Tells me to stay on his side. Haven’t seen him in the flesh in forever.”

“Do you still agree with him?”

Harrison paused, meeting Hank’s eyes for a moment. He said something under his breath, too quiet for Hank to hear.

“Do you?” Hank didn’t let up his gaze.

“No.” Harrison stood up, sullen. “I’ve got to get groceries. You done?”

“I’ve got a couple things and then I’ll—”

“Good.” Harrison pointed to the door. “See you, lieutenant.”

Hank didn’t bother with him, getting up and making his way towards the door. He stopped in the doorway, turning and looking at Harrison.

“Be careful,” he said, hand on the knob. “And if you see him, call us.”

“Tell your plastic shadow I said hi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a great 2019! I'm currently planning to do, at most, a couple more chapters before ending 11:48 and beginning the second part, so feel free to subscribe to the series [All In A Day's Work](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556470). The second part will most likely be longer, if not the same length.
> 
> Signing off for the year,
> 
> — the author


	12. DOUZE

HANK AND CONNOR hadn’t walked into the precinct together. Connor arrived before Hank to report RK900 as missing, and Hank took the time to walk Sumo before work. Connor left him with a small kiss on the cheek, which Hank smiled gratefully at him for. The two hadn’t had any sort of peace since the crime scene in the suburbs, Hank coming home tired every day as he lost more and more sleep to the stress of the case and Connor busying himself with cleaning Hank’s house.

Hank got to his desk nearly two hours after Connor, coffee cup in hand. He woke up with a minor headache, which had grown into a full on migraine by the time he saw Connor.

His new boyfriend—or whatever Connor preferred, Hank wasn’t sure—was at his desk, looking over tall stacks of papers. Hank walked over as he took a sip of his coffee, a fresh dark roast from the break room.

“Morning, Con.” Hank glanced at what Connor was looking at. “What are you doing?”

“Looking over the cases we’ve resolved over the past months.” Connor moved a thick stack from side of his desk to the other. “I was anticipating some kind of pattern.”

“Huh,” Hank said, taking another sip. “I don’t know what you’d find. We haven’t had any kind of serial killer here in a couple years.”

“I am aware.” Connor scanned paper after paper. “An oddity like this case needs an explanation.”

“Some things just happen, Con,” Hank replied, shrugging his shoulders. “Have you seen the witness yet?”

“She will arrive in about twenty minutes. The interview will be done in one of our empty offices, since the interrogation room is being cleaned,” Connor said. “Would you like to do the questioning?”

Hank winced. “I’ve got a major migraine. I’ll do my best.”

“Of course.” Connor put the papers into neat, even columns. “Let’s go.”

JESSICA GREEN was still a mess when she was brought in, the remnants of her makeup ruined and her eyes swollen. Her splotchy face saddened when Connor approached her. She sniffed and tried to keep her distance, but Connor held steady.

“Hello, Ms. Green,” Connor began, keeping his voice as soft as he could. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Jessica shook her head, staring at the ground. “They’re dead,” she muttered, so quiet Hank had to lean in to hear her.

“I can only sympathise, Miss..” Connor tried to hold her hand, but she jerked it away.

“No, you can’t.” Jessica glared at him, retreating even further. Her eyes caught Hank’s. “Neither of you can.”

“We just want to ask you some questions, Green,” Hank said, sighing as he felt his bones crack. “Then, we’ll let you have your peace.”

“And you’ll leave me alone forever?” Her eyes lit up by only a fraction.

Connor saw it as the sun. “I’m sure of it.”

She looked from him, to Hank, and then back to him. “Fine,” she said, simply.

Eyes still red from all her tears, she began.

UNFORTUNATELY, for both the case and Jessica Green, she had been out of town. Her aunt wanted support as she recovered from a hip replacement, and Jessica was the closest relative. She drove up the week before, leaving Ryan Renold with the home that she shared with him. Her plan, prior to the death of two of her friends, had been to visit her aunt for just short of two weeks, then to return and go on with her life.

She received the call that Ryan Reynold was dead while refilling her car’s tank. She had a panic attack in the bathroom behind the gas station, she told Hank and Connor in a softer voice. Her hands gripped the sink so tightly that her knuckles had turned a different colour entirely, and her face was shiny with sweat and tears. She kept crying there, for nearly an hour, before an employee came to check on her. The same employee took her home in her car, then called a taxi and left.

Jessica Green wasn’t someone who cried, and upon looking at her, her aunt sent her home. An hour’s plane ride later, she was back in Michigan, long after the police had covered the lot in tape and the smell of death.

Hank wasn’t any good at comfort, so he offered Jessica a weak smile as she finished. Connor, much better than Hank, took her hand and held it in his own.

“Did you think this would ever happen?” Connor asked gently, trying to pry the information out of her. “Did Ryan have any enemies?”

“No,” Jessica said, sniffing. “No, no one hated him. But I guess all androids are in danger, with all those protests and strikes.”

Hank vaguely remembered seeing a workers’ strike in Times Square. “What did he say about Patterson’s death?”

Jessica slowly retracted her hand, voice quavering. “Ryan just got back from the funeral. I couldn’t make it. Anna and him were always better friends, I guess. I wanted to give him some space, and I thought going to my aunt’s for the rest of the month would work well for the both of us.”

Hank finished the last of his coffee. Connor threw a glance at him before continuing.

“I’m sure you meant well,” he assured her. He didn’t reach for her hand again. “When was the last time you contacted him?”

“A week ago,” Jessica looked from Hank to Connor. “I was asking him if he’d do an errand for me while I was at work. I think it was before he knew about Anna.”

“Had you tried reaching him?” Hank asked. Jessica didn’t respond.

Connor took Hank’s hand off his shoulder. “I believe our questions are over. Thank you, Ms. Green.”

“It’s nothing,” she said, mostly to herself. She stared at the ground.

“Have a good day,” Hank said, fishing his pockets for his keys. “You call us if you ever feel you’re in danger, alright?”

“Sure.” Jessica wrung her hands, eyes still on the ground.

Hank and Connor left the motel without another word. Hank trailed behind Connor on their way to the car. He stopped when his phone rang in his pocket.

“This is Hank.” Connor nodded as Hank motioned for him to wait. “What can I help you with?”

“Hey, are you that officer guy?” Harrison’s girlfriend was on the other end. Her voice shook on every other word. “I’ve been going through his contacts for ten—”

“Yeah, this is the lieutenant.” Hank crossed his arms. “Why are you calling from Harrison’s cell?”

“—minutes and I’m panicking!” An audible breath was heard. Connor looked at Hank with a confused look. “I can’t find him anywhere, and I don’t know what to do, and I’m crying all over my makeup.”

Hank gestured to the car with urgency. “Are you sure he isn’t at work?”

“He doesn’t have work today. I know that because we’re going to spend the night, uh, together.”

Hank shook away the images that appeared in his mind. “Do you think he’s in danger?”

“No,” her voice spiked again. “I don’t think so.” There was a loud, muffled noise. “I’m not sure.”

“Could he be with someone?” Hank got into the car and set his phone on the dashboard, feeling his heart rate increase.

“He wouldn’t cheat, if that’s what your saying,” she said, anger taking over the fear in her voice. “The only person he’d be with is Gabe, and Gabe hasn’t been here.”

Hank remembered the hooded figure in Harrison’s lobby. “I’m not judging his,” he cleared his throat, “loyalty.”

Connor took the phone from Hank.”Miss, this is the lieutenant’s partner. Is it possible that your boyfriend is with Gabriel Brennan?”

Nellie, Hank remembered her name, spoke after a long pause. “I don’t know.”

Hank’s foot pressed onto the gas as he approached the highway. Connor’s LED was yellow, spinning faster and faster the longer Hank looked.

Hank felt himself breathe in. “We’re on our way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for waiting! I've been having a few issues with my email and fell behind schedule. I hope everyone had a great holiday season [ if you celebrated any holidays ] and has a great 2020.
> 
> — the author


	13. TREIZE

CONNOR got out of the car first, leaving Hank behind to yank out his keys. He caught a glimpse of Connor’s pistol in his back pocket. He hesitated to take his own, grabbing it at the last minute.

The lobby was empty, and Connor was waiting for him in the elevator, eyes dim. Even the receptionist was absent, her drink left on her desk the only thing showing she had ever been here. 

Hank heard the door close behind him. He pushed the button for the second floor. He sighed when he felt the elevator move below him.

“It’s always an elevator,” he said into the stale air.

“It is.” Connor made no effort to take the conversation any further.

The doors opened before Hank could try again, and the two of them headed for the far end of the corridor. The door at the end appeared locked, but opened when Hank knocked. He tried to enter, but Connor held him back.

“Miss?” Connor’s pistol was nearly invisible under his jacket. His arm was slightly bent, as if he was about to fire off a shot.

“It’s the lieutenant,” Hank called. “You called us, and we’re here to help.”

A small voice came from around a corner. “Come in.”

Nellie was huddled near a door, tears streaking down her cheeks. She looked up as Hank neared her, relaxing when she saw his badge. Connor followed behind the lieutenant, showing his own badge.

She shifted her shirt and sniffed, staring at Hank with red eyes. “I think he’s gone,” she said, her voice rough as sandpaper. “Gone. My baby.”

“What do you mean?” Connor’s LED went yellow.

“The lady downstairs said she saw him leave with someone,” Nellie said through her coughs. “Gone off with a friend.” Her voice trailed off into a whisper. 

“At what time?”

“Two hours ago,” she said through another sniff.

Hank looked from Nellie to the door behind him. “I’ll ask around. Connor.” He turned to his partner. “You stay with her.”

“Miss, my partner will walk the vicinity,” Connor said, putting on the same voice he had used with Jessica Green. “You and I will stay here until we deem it safe for you to be alone.”

“Why wouldn’t I be safe?” Nellie crossed her arms and sat up taller. “I’m not the one missing.”

“We believe he might be in danger. And that means you could be in danger, too,” Hank said, making his way towards the door. “I’ll be back in ten.”

Connor nodded at him, and Hank left.

THE RECEPTIONIST downstairs didn’t hear Hank leave the elevator and flinched when Hank approached the counter. She had been taking a sip of her coffee, nearly spilling it on her dotted shirt.

“Hello, officer.” She moved a pile of papers off to the side as she spoke. “How may I help you?”

“Who’s left the building in the past hour?”

The receptionist furrowed her brow. “I’m not quite sure. The family on the third floor left a few minutes ago, I remember them. I forgot a few others.”

Hank nodded his thanks and walked through the front doors. Outside, the blue sky was giving into grey clouds. He walked from the end of a block to another, not quite sure what to look for. The sidewalk was mostly empty, save for a stray black cat. Neither him nor Connor were people for superstition, and Hank hadn’t believed there was anything up above since Cole.

The cat disappeared into an alley, quiet and so fast that Hank wondered if he had seen anything at all.

“Can I look at your security cameras?” Hank had left the cool wind outside for the air conditioning in the lobby. He glanced around. The lobby was empty except for the two of them, leaving an odd silence to settle around them.

“Of course.” The receptionist smiled and tapped her fingers on her keyboard. “I’ll just need to see your badge.” Hank showed it to her.

“You can see it from right here,” she said, moving her chair to one side of her desk. 

Hank moved around the length of her desk and leaned down to get a good look at the screen. A live feed showed on the screen, and Hank saw himself standing behind the desk. He clicked pause and moved the cursor to the rewind button. Hank watched as he walked backwards out of the lobby. A family of four came in through the door and into the elevator. Hank clicked the rewind button again and watched as sunlight slowly moved across the floor. When it reached the other wall, two hours had passed and he clicked pause.

It was ten seconds before two figures appeared, the taller one with his arm around the other. The receptionist peered over, her smile disappearing.

“I remember those two,” she said with the hint of a country accent, her hold on her pen releasing. “Harry from the second floor and that creep he’s friends with. If Harry didn’t have a girl he’d be a creep too, I’m sure. What’s wrong?”

“Haven’t you been watching the news?” Hank asked as he watched the clip again. “His friend’s my suspect. Two murders, maybe even three now,” Hank trailed off, his mind thinking up any motives Brennan might have had for talking to Harrison on today, of all days.

She clutched her chest, a look of fear registering across her face. Hank saw the woman go red in the face. “He couldn’t be.”

“You alright?” He paused the footage and turned to look at her.

“I’m going to the bathroom,” Hank could hear her accent strengthen, “and I ain’t coming back.”

The receptionist left in a rush, and Hank was alone in silence again. He returned to the display, watching on loop as Harrison and Brennan walked from the elevator to the door. He zoomed in on Harrison’s face and tried to decipher what the two could possibly be talking about. He then looked at Brennan, whose face was kept turned away from the camera. He kept close to Harrison, speaking with violent, expressive gestures.

Hank noticed an odd shape on Brennan’s leg. After watching the clip three more times, he switched over to the elevator footage. Hank clicked rewind and watched himself enter the elevator and leave, followed by the family from before. He paused when he saw the elevator doors open once again.

The shape in Brennan’s pants, viewed from the camera’s angle, was clearly a gun. Hank could spot the safety without zooming in. It was a pistol, on the smaller side with the safety on. Brennan kept his hands close to it, pretending to itch his pants as he spoke to Harrison.

He was about to watch it again when the elevator doors opened in real life. Connor stepped out, with Nellie not far behind. She stayed within an elbow’s reach of him, flinching when she saw Hank behind the desk.

Connor paid no mind to her, facing Hank with blank eyes. “Have you found Gabriel Brennan in the security footage?”

“Yeah, they left two hours ago, like she said,” Hank said, watching Nellie like he would a baby deer. “Is she okay?”

“Yeah,” said her quiet voice, still wary.

Connor put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “We’re looking for him. He’ll be reported as missing, and the DPD will do everything they can.”

“But,” she had tears in her eyes again, “what if he’s hurt? What if Gabe. . . “

“We’re going to find him,” Hank reassured her. He turned off the display and stretched out his back. “Con, the receptionist is in the bathroom. She ran off when I told her about Brennan.” He looked around the lobby. “You want to talk for a minute? Outside?”

Connor nodded, his eyes clearing. Hank felt himself relax. “Of course. Nellie, you can sit here until we return.” He gestured to the chairs in the lobby.

Hank didn’t wait for her response before leading Connor out of the lobby. Connor followed him without a word, and Hank knew that the silence wasn’t helpful if either of them. They stood, watching as the sky slowly made up its mind on what to do next. Hank saw rain clouds move closer together. He could smell the rain on its way, and judging by the intensity, he knew it wouldn’t stop.

Connor broke their silence, a quiet voice in the calm before a coming storm. “I believe he’s dead.”

Hank, surprised at Connor’s guess, opened his mouth to say something. He then forgot it, his mind fading a bit as he watched a couple walk across the street. “Makes sense. Kill the only guy who can rat you out.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Connor tilted his head, following the couple with his own gaze. “I don’t believe Harrison Beckett ever shared Brennan’s beliefs. He would crack eventually, stop going along with him. Brennan would go too far, Harrison wouldn’t follow.”

Hank waited a long time before speaking, focusing his gaze on the moon. It was full, one of those moons that catches one off guard on a lonely night. He felt lonely here, even with Connor.

“Do you think he deserved it?”

“Harrison?” Connor looked at Hank, confused.

“Brennan.” Hank was still looking at the moon. “Getting off so easy.”

“Oh,” was all Connor said. The android paused for a moment, just as Hank had. “I guess not.”

“I’ll tell her,” Hank decided. He looked away from the moon and at Connor. “Stay here.”

Connor’s LED flashed yellow and Hank left. The two of them would have time, maybe when their case was done and this shitshow had reached its curtain call, to talk.

Nellie hadn’t made any further emotional recovery, her face and words still a mess when Hank walked back in. She met his eyes with a kind of despair Hank hadn’t seen in a while, the kind that made him think of Cole and his mother all at once.

He helped her up from the chair, holding onto her shoulders tightly as if she had forgotten how to walk.

“You need some sleep,” he said, a simple suggestion. They both knew she wasn’t going to.

“Okay,” she lied, a voice too calm. Hank relaxed at that.

“Call us if you remember anything.” Hank game her a small pat on the arm.

She nodded and left.

Hank hoped that she wouldn’t have to see him again, his presence a bad omen. He hoped that she could go on with her life. He hoped that someday, he could go back into the rain and kiss Connor without having to say anything, explain anything.

HANK AND CONNOR went home that night, long after midnight. They had searched the streets for hours, asking bartenders and calling Harrison’s coworkers. Alas, they found almost nothing, only a rumor that Brennan had taken him to a cabin he had up north, a place the two friends often went to during the holidays. Connor called the precinct, telling them what he had heard. There was a memory that came to mind as Hank drove home, completely irrelevant and out of the blue. Cole was swinging on a swing set, laughing that laugh of his that made Hank smile every time. A bright blue sky was cloudless above Hank, and the air was cool. Hank had been looking forward to getting off work all week, after promising his son a day at the park.

Hank remembered how he was going to surprise him with ice cream on the way home, the _Rock Rock Mountain Top_ at the parlor a few miles away from their neighborhood. Cole, on his fourth birthday that was not too many months before, had tried the flavor and would not stop talking about it whenever they went for ice cream. Hank had rolled his eyes at Cole, smiling as his son would talk about how much he wanted to go. It was as if the chocolate chips on the cone had been a million dollars, as the boy would go on and on.

Cole was swinging higher than he ever had before, and Hank was too busy watching him laugh to see his son lose balance. Cole, still laughing, slipped off the seat of his swing mid-swing. He tumbled to the ground, laugther cut short by the impact. Hank jerked into action, leaning beside Cole, who cried into the mulch. Hank got him to turn around after what was about fifteen seconds and began to inspect his knees.

His left knee was fine, but his right knee was scraped. The outer layer of skin had been scratched off, and Cole had a long red line over his kneecap. He only bled from the top of the wound, a small red drop forming. Hank took him to the car and cared for his wound with the first aid kit that he always carried.

His ex-wife had nagged him about Cole possibly hurting himself for weeks, and even after she left him that whiny voice stayed in his mind. A week after he had signed the divorce papers, he cleaned out his car in an effort to erase her from what he could. He found the first aid kit lying under the passenger seat and the voice had come again. He would have thrown it away that day, if he hadn’t looked up to see Cole playing with the hose in the grass. Hank kept it, swallowing down the cackles his ex-wife gave him in his head, and continued cleaning.

When Cole had stopped crying and accepted the lollipop Hank gave him, Hank told him they’d be getting ice cream. As expected, Cole broke into a grin, laughing and asking his father if they could get _Rock Rock Mountain Top_.

Older but no wiser, Hank drove through the rain, thinking about the first aid kit under Connor’s seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've have been sick lately [ a fever that would leave me alone ] and felt terrible for the past two weeks. I fell behind schedule once again. Thank you, again, for waiting, and I hope you enjoy the chapter.
> 
> <3


	14. QUATORZE

HANK’s sleep the next morning was disrupted abruptly, Hank jolting away from a slap on the face stung him for at least a minute. Connor was staring at him, with a red LED and a worried look as he hovered over Hank. Hank blinked at him slowly, groaning as he cradled his face.

“Let a man sleep,” he muttered, sitting up. His back cracked loudly, making him wince. Hank wondered how much a chiropractor would cost. Maybe Connor could do it for him.

“It’s Richard. RK900. They’ve found him.” Connor’s face was not happy and his voice was deadly quiet, contradictory to the otherwise good news. His hand squeezed Hank’s elbow tightly. “He is on his way to an android repair center as we speak. We are going there first thing. I have already notified Fowler.”

Hank got out of bed quickly, his blood flow lagging behind him. Connor stepped back and out the door, most likely to grab Hank’s keys.

Hank put on his clothing in less than twenty seconds, not caring if the shirt he wore had a small coffee stain on the breast pocket. There would be no breakfast. Hank told his stomach to shut up in his head as he finished brushing his teeth. The two were out the door in a minute and a half, and out of the neighborhood within another twenty. Hank’s foot did not leave the gas until they hit a red light, and in response Hank gripped the steering wheel tighter and tighter until his hands protested with a soreness that spread from knuckle to knuckle.

Connor fidgeted in the passenger seat, staring from Hank to the windows, to the red lights and back to Hank. Hank caught him looking the fourth time, and patted Connor’s hand as they waited for the green light. They reached the repair center after ten minutes that felt like both four hours and four seconds to Hank. He got out of the car in a daze, mind racing to think of what could be waiting for him within the small, grey building.

Richard had not been found in good condition. Hank knew it immediately, from when the technicians had tried to lie to him about his status, only to be confirmed when he entered the small room. Connor, Hank thought, had known it from the beginning, long before he woke up that morning. He had been quiet, a minimalist in his words, thinking to himself with a worried expression on his face. Hank would rather not know what he was thinking about.

The RK900 was in deep stasis, and would be for the next day, according to the head technician. He suffered minor software breaches, said a shorter technician, which had apparently been worse than the marks on his chassis. The short woman continued on with a brief overview, the only sounds in the room coming from her. The physical damage was what had silenced Hank and Connor, making the former want to blink them away.

There were long, deep gashes along Richard’s abdomen and left leg. His arm and knees bore bruises and dents, wounds that flowed a soft light blue if Hank looked close enough. Connor was holding his own arm beside Hank, a worried look of pain on his face. Richard’s face, however, made Hank want to sock whoever did this to him in his fucking mouth. The poor android’s nose was nearly broken and his eyes looked as if they had pulled out of their sockets multiple times, and seemed to be loosely in place. There were small, surface level cuts along his right cheek, small blue markings that contrasted the pale cream colour. His hair had dried thirium on some of the strands and clumped together.

Hank couldn’t look at Richard without seeing Connor in his place. And he couldn’t look back at Connor beside him without wanting to projectile vomit. 

Another technician, a tall lanky man with eyes too young for his face, entered the room. Connor stepped back to make room for him.

The young man looked back and forth between Hank and Connor before settling his eyes on Connor. “Good morning,” he said, too smiley.

Connor didn’t try to return his optimism. “Greetings.”

“Richard here is doing alright, before you ask.” Hank looked at his badge as he spoke, barely listening. Peter Torres. “He’s got injuries to his chassis, but nothing that will have lasting impact on him.”

“What about his software?” asked Connor. His eyes didn’t move from Peter’s face. Hank put a gentle hand on his shoulder, an attempt to calm him down before anything happened. “I was told by the other technicians that his software was damaged,” he said, a question hidden in disguise.

Peter, to Hank’s surprise, held strong under Connor’s gaze. “The only external damage we have to worry about is the laceration on his left leg and a deeper one on his back.”

Hank tightened his grip on Connor’s shoulder subconsciously. He didn’t want to think about the kind of knuckle sandwich he’d be giving the fuckface, or else he’d start going at Peter. “What happened to his software, Pete?” Hank asked in a voice he usually saved for suspects. Peter may as well have been one.

Peter sighed, looking as if he’d lost a winning lottery ticket in his car. “His data’s been breached, and due to what we think is trauma, he’s been in deep stasis for the past forty hours.” Peter cracked his knuckles, looking at Connor with a pained look. “Richard has high security, but it’s been bypassed by developer codes. Unfortunately, most of his data on his daily life has been edited into a format that makes it difficult for his systems to process.”

Peter continued when the silence returned. “Some information found in his systems has been deleted, such as some details of places he knows and loved ones. We also found errors in systems controlling his behavior, which could result in mood swings and involuntary movements. No vital systems were affected and he is still otherwise functional.” Hank watched Peter run a hand through his hair, revealing dark roots in his otherwise blond hair. “We predict that he’ll need domestic assistance for a few weeks. After that, he should be otherwise fine.”

Connor glanced at Hank, his LED yellow. “He could stay with us until he’s recovered. We are closest to him, with the exclusion of Gavin,” he said. 

“I wouldn’t call Gavin close,” Hank replied, letting himself laugh. “But, yeah. Probably the best idea.”

Peter nodded. “There are papers in the hallway.” He opened the door, pausing in the threshold. “He got fucked up,” he said in a quiet voice, looking straight at Connor. “I don’t know how he’ll feel when he wakes up. We can only do so much.”

Connor only nodded at him, face blank as it had been when he first saw Richard. “Have a good day, Mr. Torres.”

Peter left. Hank’s hand fell from Connor’s shoulder. The lieutenant was staring at the clean, white tiles of the repair centre’s floor. He wondered when they had last cleaned it.

Connor pulled him out of his head when the silence stretched out too long. “Do we have a mattress at home?”

“What?” Hank’s brain was still a few steps behind.

“A mattress, to put in the bedroom I use,” Connor said in a monotone voice that didn’t fit him. It took Hank back to the days before Connor had deviated. ”I’d rather not have to buy another one.”

“Don’t think so,” Hank said. He counted the tiles, barely listening to Connor. Forty eight white squares, all about seven inches in length. Fifty six, including the ones cut off by the wall. “And we can go buy one on Thursday. Where would you sleep?”

Connor looked thoughtful. “I was assuming I could stay in your bedroom.”  
“With me?” Hank tried not to cough. The two of them hadn’t tried to be physically closer, and sharing a bed was a jump. A very large jump.

“If it isn’t a problem, of course.” Connor said it gently, almost a question.

But it wasn’t a question, Hank thought. A voice from the back of his brain told him that he might have always wanted Connor in his bed.

Connor looked at him, expecting an answer. Hank met his eyes, feeling his face go warm when Connor’s gaze didn’t let up.

“Let’s go home,” he said, when the silence had settled too much. He looked at Richard, looking at his wounds and injuries, until his brain told him to vomit. “Before I decide to buy a six pack on the way.”

Connor nodded, stepping forward and placing a gentle hand on the Richard’s arm, the one less marred by scratches and cuts. “I think that would be a great idea,” he said, watching Richard’s face.

His hand left Richard’s arm slowly, twitching as it reached his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! If you celebrate it. This part of [All In A Day's Work](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1556470) is coming to a close. I most likely will give you a definite amount of chapters left within the next two chapters. It's been an interesting [ and inconsistent ] journey writing this and sharing it with you all, and I'm glad to continue onwards.
> 
> Hope you've had a lovely couple weeks!  
— the author

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment or kudos if you liked it! And have a lovely day.
> 
> — the author


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